The Slug Club Party
by Harmony4life
Summary: At Hogwarts, in the mid of his 6th year, Harry had a slight dilemma about finding a date to the Slug Club Party. One certain Ginevra Weasley came to mind, but she was already in a relationship with Dean Thomas. Who is he going to ask? Who agreed to go with him eventually? More often than you expect, everything is not what it appears :
1. Chapter 1

**The Slug Club Party**

**Disclaimer: Nothing of my own. the characters are all in J K Rowling's possession. The sole reason for playing is that I just need to see the world in Harmony!**

**Warning: "Harry Potter and the half blood prince" movie spoilers! books 1-6 spoilers with twists**

**A/N: In general, the entire story would be told from Harry's POV. The lines in italics are Harry's thoughts, hence used in present tense. There is a lot of Harry's reflection, which was going on in his mind only, yet I don't know how to separate them from actual development of the plot, so it might get confusing. please bear with me! I have never ever written fanfic before. I simply want to channel my observation to the virtues of Harry& Hermione! Thank you! **

It was a quiet evening. The magnificent King of Day made a quick curtsey to Lady of Night, who just graced the opposite end of the vast sky with her presence, ordering his last tendrils of sunlight still lost amid green foliages in the Forbidden forest to retreat towards contours of mountain ranges, presumably for a long restful slumber. The Lady returned the gesture with great dignity, fluttered her cape all over high-spirited pinkish ribbon clouds, making some sort of an agile dance around them, stars twinkling like diamonds on her velvety material.

Most of the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry paid no attention to the festivities of Mother Nature outside. They got their own parties to worry about. The hustle and bustle before the Hogsmead weekend was thick in the air. Guys huddled together, bragging about the witches who had fallen prey to their charms. Others who had yet to ask anyone out was pacing in front of classrooms, trying to pick a random witch passing the corridors. All witches, third year and above, were either frantically browsing the "Witch Weekly" for most up-to-date beauty charms or anxious to try on as many dressing robes as possible, pruning in front of mirrors for hours, squealing in delight at flattering comments from those magical glass surfaces.

Needless to say, the school library is literally deserted, except for the softly snoring Madam Pince and two wayward students, one raven-haired wizard, unmistakable with his infamous lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead and the other a petite witch, her slender frame shrouded by a canopy of thick brown hair. The witch appeared to all the world to be having a whale of time. She was wandering along the dark aisles, rendered a tad creepy with towering bookshelves, humming a joyful tune, as if she was taking a pleasant stroll in the park, jade meadows scattering the ground and black birds singing high above the cloudless arch.

Harry Potter was grinding his teeth hard, feeling steams coming from his ears when he watched his best friend gently touch the binding of a large rosewood tome the way Ginny Weasley laid her dainty fingers on a gorgeous silk robe on display at Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions store on pre-school shopping day several months ago. He had been following her for more than half an hour in this stuffy corner, the strong aroma of well-worn parchments filling his nose, making him want to sneeze. That didn't even count the five minutes he was distracted by the Quidditch magazine section, and lost track of her, forced to spend another five minutes running around the huge library to catch sight of his bushy-haired friend. He was catching his breath, both hands on his knees when he reached her, and she didn't even spare a glance at her miserable best friend but still stood transfixed to a stupid book! Harry was silently counting how many times he had shifted positions. He had scuffed his torn trainers on the carpet floor, tapped his fingers on the wood material next to her. He had run his hand through his tousled mop umpteenth time, then folded his arms in front of his chest, then decided to shove both hands into his pocket patiently waiting, or so he had planned, until the sweet book-caressing scene taunted at his face. His short temper now getting the better of him, Harry decided that he'd had enough. He repositioned his hands, now firmly attached to his hips, for the last time, huffed loudly before kicking the bookshelf hard and growling. "Arghh! HERMIONE!"

Madam Pince startled awake, slamming her fist down on her desk, and any ordinary student would feel intimidated by the librarian as much as by a judge with his gavel presiding the Wizengamot court, but Harry Potter and his best friend, Hermione Granger, are anything but ordinary. The stern voice "Silence!" following the loud fist, which failed to produce any effect on the two undisciplined teenagers, was soon muted with the tense silence cast above them. Harry was fuming at the naughty witch in front of him. The only thing that kept him from wincing at the throbbing pain in his toes was the triumphant tight-lipped smile of Hermione, her trademark Prefect smile, signaling "the calm before the storm".

"The bloody book! Do you want it or not?" hissed Harry in a low voice.

Hermione swiftly retrieved the said book and turned back to him, the same smile plastered on her face. She cast a scrutinizing look at the thick tome, carefully cradled it in her left arm like a baby, her right hand turning each yellow dog-eared page, also with extra care. Harry was on the verge of yanking the offensive book from Hermione and throwing it out the nearest window, the assault of old parchment smell now unbearable, when Hermione finally replied, far too slowly for his patience. "Well…good potential. Hmm...I'd wager this comes in better use than the Potions book of yours, Harry."

Hermione had been rather resentful towards the half-Blood-Prince Potions book that Harry thought was more valuable than his entire vault in Gringotts. Well, maybe he was exaggerating a bit, but the book was truly brilliant, with many useful tips and small tricks to make assigned potions properly in the shortest span of time, not to mention a wide assortment of wicked spells that he was secretly learning, eager to find the ultimate weapon against Voldemort. More notably, Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, had been struggling in Newt potion class for the highest marks, which were always unconventionally given to nobody other than her best bespectacled friend. Harry had been trying to persuade her to make the best of the book, but she stubbornly refused, accusing him of cheating, and Harry could see the irony of their wonderful friendship that had survived five years of ridiculous situations and numerous death threats now starting to fall apart due to a mere textbook! A surge of familiar frustration frazzled his anger. Harry threw his hands up in defeat, naked hurt in his emerald eyes. "Can't you just leave it alone, for a single bloody minute?"

Widened brown eyes were locked in his wounded stare for a few seconds. Hermione lowered her head, sighing deeply. "Okay, I'm sorry, Harry!"

Something like utter resignation laced in her wearied tone bothered Harry, his anger quickly ebbed away.

"Apology accepted," he spoke clearly, keeping eye contact with Hermione, willing her to understand that he hadn't really meant to snap.

Hermione made a single nod. Relieved that she got his silent message, Harry smiled at her. She smiled back. "What can I do for you, Harry?"

_Always appearing businesslike, Hermione!_ Harry inwardly smirked, knowing that she was trying to compose herself a little after their less-than-pleasant encounter. He kept looking at her, mild amusement barely touching the imperceptible twitch of his mouth. Harry seemed to forget Hermione was waiting for his answer, until her shrill voice pierced his thoughts. "Harry! There has to be a reason you have been following me in the library since we got out of class!"

That brought Harry back to the present. It's his turn to avoid her eyes.

"Uhm…you know…the Slug Club Party tomorrow…" mumbled Harry.

"What about it?" Hermione cut him off mid sentence

Harry winced. She was deliberately blunt while clearly knowing he was fighting for words. Of all the times he had waited until the last few hours to cram the entire History of Magic book into his thick skull before final exams, never had he felt so devastatingly ill-prepared like when he was facing Hermione right that moment. Harry had to admit he was pretty reckless in not considering Hermione's reaction before seeking her.

It wasn't particularly hard to understand, actually. He was so consumed with finding a date for the Slughorn's party this coming Saturday, when he tossed and turned on his four-poster bed yesterday, that Ron's loud snores were indistinct from the ruffles of night breezes. Except for the fanatical Romilda Vane, not a single witch directly approached him. Not that Harry was the cold-blooded type, completely calm and collected at the sight of female creatures waggling eyebrows suggestively or swaying hips dangerously. In contrast, Harry Potter was a typical raging hormonal 16-year-old adolescent, and he was currently noticing one Ginevra Weasley, the most popular girl in school after Miss Cho Chang sort of maintained dormant, focusing her energy in the Newt for 7th year students. Miss Ginevra was the youngest and only female child of the Weasley clan and, to his chagrin, also the pampered little sister of his best friend. Ronald Weasley had the school-wide reputation for being fiercely protective and, thus, extremely wary of any poor bloke who got within one meter distance of the pretty redhead. That's why Harry was rather surprised how the witch still got away with dating around and the lucky wizards did survive through the ordeal, though he highly doubted they would ever admit if physically or emotionally abused in any forms in exchange of blissful days with the redhead beauty. In retrospect, Harry kindda regretted not jumping at his chance when she dumped Michael Corner before his fellow Gryffindor Dean Thomas stuck his colored face in the tasty meal. Harry sighed dramatically_, since when has his life become full of ironies?_ He was told that Ginny used to have a big crush on the boy-who-lived even before meeting him, but Harry Potter was a busy kid, always too tied up in life-threatening business involved the darkest wizard to take heed of a stammering girl "with her elbows in butter " who would run off the moment he entered a room. In second year, Ginny was possessed by Voldemort, opening the chamber of secret, releasing the basilisk, causing many attacks. Hermione, his best friend, was petrified, but not before working out the riddles, her stone hand clutching the paper that helped him solve the mystery and head straight to the chamber to save Ginny. He remembered feeling terrified at the thought of how the Weasley family, who have welcomed him and taken him under their wings, would think if he failed to save their beloved daughter. The following years, Ginny Weasley remained steadily the role of Ron's little sister in his mind. Then came 5th year, Ginny became a competent member in Dumbledore's Army, and later a good ally in the Department of Ministry battle. Suddenly, the summer before 6th year and a good half of this school year, Harry heard ppl talk about Ginevra Weasley almost everywhere. They gushed about how beautiful she was, and vivacious, athletic and charmingly daunting with her famous Bat-Bogey Hex. Even the Slytherin future death-eaters were not resistant to her intoxicating feminine attributes. Therefore, it's reasonable when such a delicate subject like "dating" or "girl problems" was brought up, Ginevra Weasley crossed his mind. Yet, Harry Potter's life had never been easy. She was going out with Dean, so Ginny was the first name he came up with, but then crossed out immediately afterwards. His ex-girlfriend Cho Chang was not an option, either. Harry even turned to Luna Lovegood, another friend of his in the DA, who also followed him to the DOM. He met Luna not so long ago, but got along quite well with her. Luna was a quaintly attractive girl with peculiar quirks which Harry had never been able to understand, but still appreciated somehow. Luna believed in nonexistent magical creatures and saw things her unique way without ever worrying about what others thought of her. Luna, deemed a bit loony, was also the victim to bullies from Ravenclaws students, for which Harry had great compassion, and, accordingly, sensed every need to protect her. Luna got significantly more respect from the DOM incident, not only from Harry Potter and his friends, but also from her housemates as well. However, his "Felix Felicis" seeming to drain pathetically, even "Loony" Lovegood had already agreed to go with his dorm mate Neville Longbottom. Harry had been trying to make a mental list of witches of his acquaintance, mostly in Gryffindor. Lavender was stuck to Ron's mouth and Parvati was seen to be constantly clinging to Seamus's arms nowadays.

The tunnel was getting darker, his mood spiraled from gloomy to utterly hopeless. Harry was thinking about how to make up a valid excuse for not joining the party when something in his brain clicked. Hermione Granger, single and available! Her name was the light at the end of his tunnel. Hermione, the girl who could always save him when he needed her most! Harry exhaled gratefully, burying head in the pillow and soon fell into deep sleep with last thoughts of his brilliant best friend.

That was how Harry Potter eventually afforded a pleasant rest last night. This morning, he managed to get up early with a surprisingly good mood when the first birdsong was heard outside the castle. Harry was too keen on carrying out his plan of following and asking Hermione in the library to dream of the possibility of her not helping him.

However, at this moment, after he waited that long for Hermione to focus on him instead of the ruddy bookshelf, when he could finally voice his request, words failed him. A big lump caught in his throat, his mind whirled with various possible scenarios of Hermione refusing him ..._She might laugh at him…Hermione, also a club member, got a date herself…Merlin! How could he be so daft! Of course, Hermione could get any date she wanted, considering how amazing she was…or she simply didn't want to go with him…He might not be a worthy date in her eyes…_Panic creeping up his mind…_Maybe he should just tell her that it was nothing and wished her luck in her search for the best potion reference material, and he would ran back to his dorm, moping._ Harry was so close to giving up, yet some inner voice kept tugging at his heart. He hated to be interrogated by her. She had pressed him for answers in the past so many times that he couldn't remember all, but this trapping situation felt so much different. The flip-flop in his stomach, the sweat slick in his tight close fist, the squeamish sensation building up in his mouth, he had never felt this way before. Even when he was asking Cho Chang to the Yule ball, those feelings had never been this strong. He wondered _if he had planned to ask Hermione like this time, would these symptoms_ _have been the same, at the same intensity? _Harry was well aware that he had been taking too much time, and he silently hoped that Hermione would say something, anything to break the strained silence. _She was resolute in being difficult with him. Why, Hermione? Why, of all the situations, she chose the worst not to help him? _Harry was scared. He dared let his mind wander a bit to a brighter vista of Hermione accepting and beaming at him, jumping into his arms even, once he asked her. Harry was thrilled. _He had to ask her…Merlin! He wanted to ask her, but how?_ Harry was looking at anywhere but Hermione. He gaped at the hole, on the bookshelf, just above her right shoulder, where the stupid book had been. He glanced towards the star-studded blanket of night outside the window. It had gone dark without his noticing. Floating candles, charmed to be lighted at a fixed time after dusk, was casting their shadows upon the floor carpet. Harry was staring at the silhouette of Hermione, knowing she was standing perfectly still, her bushy hair in its black shadow resembling a large hood on top of her school robe. Her visage etched onto the carpet was bathed in flickering yellow candlelight like a mysterious portrait. Harry didn't know why but he was mesmerized by the uncanny beauty of Hermione's shadows in that quiet corner of the library on that quiet evening. Then, her shadow moved, Hermione ducked her head slightly, slowly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ears. Harry looked up that instant and blurted out. "I think we should go together."

He suddenly felt bold, but then horrified at how intimate his words could imply.

"As friends, I mean," he quickly added.

He emphasized "friends" on purpose, for fear of scaring her away with his sudden intention. _Well, not that he had any intention…with her. They are friends, best friends, very special friends, but just friends, that's all they have ever been, just friends…_ No sooner had he allowed himself a bit of relief for saving the moment at the last minute than he was quite flummoxed that she looked pretty upset, seeing that her shoulders visibly slumped.

"Yeah, silly me…" Hermione let out a humorless chuckle.

Harry hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about. He was groping for some explanation when she abruptly switched into businesslike mode. "I couldn't find a suitable date, Harry! I didn't intend to go, honestly, and I have a busy schedule with prefect duties and upcoming arithmancy tests."

If anything, Harry was even more bewildered. He was hoping that Hermione would dump her date and go with him if he pleaded with her. That worked most of the time. Hermione, strict and uptight as she was, could hardly ever deny him anything. _But Hermione without a date, too far from reality! True, he forgot that before, but when remembering she was also a club member, he was quite certain that a long line of bloke would wait for their turn. The stupid git Cormac McLaggen had been blatantly flirting with her, or the stuck-up Terry Boot had been making every effort to approach her, pretending to ask her about schoolwork. The nerve of them! Or Ron, yes Ron, who was dating Lavender but has fancied her for years. And Harry reckoned that Hermione was smitten with his best friend too. Thus, it's impossible to imagine no one had asked Hermione._

"What?... How?... Why?" Harry exclaimed exactly what was on his mind.

But Hermione was no longer listening. She went further into the dark aisle towards the window, still carrying the potion tome against her chest. Harry hurried after her. When he reached hearing distance, Hermione faced him, sounding somewhat angry. "But Why, Harry? Why me?" Not waiting for Harry to answer, she snorted, more like to herself. "You can ask anyone. I'm sure there's a long line of pretty witches desperate to dose the Chosen One with love potion like Romilda Vane."

If the contexts were different, Harry would be amused at the similar way she pictured him with girls as he internally thought about her with boys. However, Harry was completely baffled and nervous, and quite distressed with her bitterness. _She was upset, bitter and sarcastic. What's wrong with Hermione today?_ _He knew that she was opposed to those temptresses throwing themselves at him for his fame and his wealth as much as he, so what possessed her to say something so…unreasonable like that?_

"You know I cannot stand those girls," Harry frowned at her.

"Well, Ginny mentioned about going yesterday and…" he heard her gulp audibly.

"Hermione! Ginny is with Dean," Harry raised a hand at Hermione, making her stop, "and I am not that kind of guy!"

"Well, how about ..." persists Hermione, to his consternation.

Now was his turn to cut her off, "Enough! Hermione! I do not want to hear any other witches' names!"

He continues in a more subdued voice, preceded with a soft sigh. "If you don't want to go with me, Hermione, you might just as well say so."

Harry forced himself to look straight into her eyes, unreadable emotions swimming in her brown orbs. Harry was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. _She was hiding something, When he couldn't read her face, that means she was trying to keep him in the dark about something… _He would be extremely anxious to find out, hadn't it been for the intense nervousness gnawing his entire being right now. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. She looked totally lost, like a gaping fish out of water, her fingers worrying the cover of the thick book, her face too pale for his liking. Something about Hermione when he directed his steady gaze at her was telling him that was the right moment to ask her to the party properly. Harry cleared his throat, and kept his voice perfectly neutral, never breaking eye contact with her. "Hermione… would you like to go to the Slug Club Party with me tomorrow?"

Hermione looked away, not giving him time to read her eyes, yet again. Harry swallowed inaudibly, thousand butterflies squirming in his stomach. He was feeling physically sick, his head hurt with too much thinking, his eyes blazed with visions of the girl who just turned away from him. He thought he was falling off his broom like in third year, but Hermione would not be there at his bedside when he woke up. And Harry doubted he would ever recuperate wholly the way he did three yrs ago.

Then, Hermione tentatively lifted her head, glancing up at him beneath her long eyelashes, her lips curving in a reluctant smile, but a smile nonetheless, the smile he felt like he had been awaiting for an eternity, though it was actually just more than five minutes. Hope sparkled in his bright green eyes. The smile on her face was getting more radiant with every beat of his heart.

"Of course, I want to go with you, Harry!" she said softly, eyes never leaving his.

Just like that, her voice was like music to his ears, tons of invisible heavy weights were lifted off his shoulders. Harry Potter stood tall, giving his best friend a wide grin. He pulled Hermione into a big bear hug. The onerous potion book fell to the carpet floor with a heavy thud, but both of them were too wrapped up with each other to notice. She laughed into his shoulders, sending tingling feelings down his arms. He tightened his hold around her, buried his face in the soft tangle of brown hair, and whispered in her ears. "Thank you, Hermione!"

Harry could feel the first gleam of happiness shinning through his heart since the beginning of a foreboding school year, what with petty rows over a potion book, Ron acting like a jerk to Hermione, Draco Malfoy's covert activities, and Voldemort gaining in power. Harry knew that he got his old Hermione back, their friendship once again overcame yet another hurdle, and they have become closer than ever.

Harry was not unfamiliar with unexpected turns in his less-than-normal life. Little did he know, however, what was in store for him and his beloved best friend in his arms at the moment. He simply cherished how her small frame fit right into his embrace. For the first time since he learned of the Slug Club party, Harry felt completely at ease, knowing Hermione would be by his side, as always….

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here comes part 2. The majority is Harry's thoughts again within a limited frame of time and place, I must say. This is, in essence, my attempt to explore Harry's subconscious to show a noble, angsty Harry who has his own insecurity, but will not waver when fighting for the love of his life.**

The Slug Club meeting was normally dry and uneventful. However, today, the party got in full swings. The meeting room was extended, making area for a makeshift dance floor. The crescent nestling among indigo billows was vivid through the transparent enchanted ceiling. Swarms of fireflies were somersaulting in a far corner, weaving glittering sketches of various indefinable shapes. Hermione seemed to be completely entranced by the sight, and Harry pondered utilizing magical light someday to capture a girl's heart, or light of magical fireflies, to be specific. He made a mental note of asking professor Slughorn about the necessary spell.

As usual, the supper party started with a big feast on the huge round table, surrounded with high-backed chairs, all made of birch solids with intricate carvings, the honey walnut veneer polished impeccably, giving off the overall ancient aura under the majestic chandelier. Plush cushions were covered with floral patterned wigan. Professor Slughorn always prepared silverware cutlery sets and plates with crystal goblets charmed for automatic replenishment when empty. Harry was extremely awed, at first, since he had been only acquainted with the modest dining area at the Dursley's, the kitchen always stuffed to brim with trinkets and cookware at the Burrows, and the enormous Hogwarts kitchen full of house elves. Harry didn't really know the purpose of all these sumptuous Victorian decorative designs, but after a while, he had learned how to accommodate to the disquieting atmosphere in every Slug club dinner.

The twin Hestia and Flora Carrow showed up, bedecked in identical Regency's full dresses in Slytherin color with tight lacy corsets. Similar olive bonnets with big black flowers perched on their hazel curls. Black parasols with tassels in their gloved hands, they looked exactly like dark witches who were going to interrupt the joyful occasion. Harry nudged his elbow with Hermione's, making her look up, eyebrows raising in question. He nodded towards the Slytherin twin and discreetly motioned around the dining table. Hermione rolled her eyes, giving him a small smile. Harry smiled back in kind. He knew she was also a bit disturbed with their potion professor's penchant for luxuries.

His eyes swept around the full circle of ppl attending the party. Most had already gotten down to their lavish meals, sporadic ingratiating compliments to professor Slughorn were muffled with continuous clatters of dining ware. Everyone was dressed up for the kind of revelry involved dining, dancing and bringing along dates, not unlike the Yule ball. Harry put on the dressing robe he just got before the school year, but settled for a maroon muggle tie, instead of the black bowtie that went with it. Feeling a little stuffy and uncomfortable with eating and all, he loosened his tie. Harry glanced at his best friend next to him. Hermione, seemingly lost in thought, was picking at her half-finished meal. Although he knew she looked downright lovely when she first came downstairs to join him, Harry was absolutely amazed that Hermione, attired in muggle casual wear, was quite outstanding among witches and wizards in bulky dressing robes. She was wearing a red and gold plaid knee-length skirt with black stockings, a white long-sleeved turtleneck silk blouse, topped with a maroon waistcoat, which was adorned with a glittering small Gryffindor crest…_Talk with Hermione about House spirit and pride…_A small ribbon of the same maroon shade added the perfect finishing touch to her decent outfit. He was faintly amused, his maroon tie getting more cumbersome_. He should have had transfigured it to a bowtie, wizard-appropriate, and they would look like a pair…._Harry Potter had never mentioned how his best friend looked or remarked about her choice of clothing. It wasn't of great importance to him. _She is his Hermione, no matter what she wears or how she looks. _Plus, Hermione was supposed to be his best friend and Ron's love interest and hence, off-limits. Harry had enough on his plate already, so he knew how to act wisely to avoid any more complicated problems, most evasive of which, to him, being the matters of the heart.

Nobody really taught him love since the night his parents were murdered by Voldemort. The boy-who-lived had survived the killing curse only to be tossed at the mercy of his spiteful relatives, his childhood bombarded with agonies of ill-treatment and severe disgrace, mental pains much worse than death! He was labeled "freak" and told that no one could love such a mutant creature. The idea engraved deeply in a vulnerable little kid's mind, Harry was even grateful for the little cupboard the Dursleys gave him and their scanty meals every several days to feed his stomach. He had resigned himself to servitude at the Dursley for the rest of his life until Hagrid visited him with the acceptance letter from Hogwarts on his 11th birthday. It was the most surreal day of his life, when he found out the truth about his parents' deaths and where he truly belonged, the wizarding world. At King Cross station, Harry came to know the Weasley clan, who he regarded as his surrogate family and met two people who later got to be the most important ones in his life: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger on the Hogwarts Express Train.

Though Harry Potter appeared to be a caring young man, deep down, he could never acknowledge the notion of love. Though Dumbledore had told him back in the first year that love lived in his skin, there was always a flicker of doubt in the recesses of his mind. From the painful twist in his heart when he heard stories of his parents, from the unbidden tears burning his eyes the moment he saw himself happy with his own family in the Mirror of Erised, he felt that he would have loved them very much had they been still alive. Other than that, he lost his parents in his infancy and barely knew them at all. Harry knew he cared for Sirius deeply, the thought of his godfather cutting though his heart with white-hot pain, arousing his catastrophic rage and great pangs of conscience. He could also felt a very strong attachment to the headmaster, professor McGonagall, his DOM gangs and the Weasley family, but most of all, his two best friends. Harry was fully conscious of his eagerness to have breakfast in the Great Hall with them, his relaxation at gathering every night in front of the fireplace in Gryffindor room, his contentment at receiving Hermione's goodnight hug or listening to Ron's loud snores. He soon established a great rapport with his two best friends. Together, they made the Golden Trio. They went to class together, spent time outside class together and went on many thrilling ventures together each school year. Harry could sense palpable solidarity permeating his trio whenever they were committed to a different task, most often, to keep him safe from Voldemort's conspiracies. He was proud to be part of the Golden Trio and felt deep gratitude towards his two best friends.

Ron was a kind, funny and sweet guy. They had a wonderful time playing Quidditch, exchanging jokes, or badmouthing Slytherin students before bedtime. Harry spent enjoyable time at the Burrows, sleeping in good bed, devouring delicious meals, and having fun with his best friends and Ron's family.

While Ron filled his days with joy and laughter, Hermione, his other best friend, was the constant beacon in his life, instilling lights of hope and faith in his battered soul, bestowing a sense of conviction, of meaning, of purpose on his existence. Hermione Granger, her voice reverberating in his head, her image brightening his dreams, her name echoing his heartbeat! Her brilliance has been shining upon his way from the day she barged into his compartment, asking about Neville's toad. With a single "Oculus Reparo", Hermione Granger fixed his glasses, showing him the wonders of magic. Only after his eyeglass lens became smooth, his vision bright and clear, did he realize that he had had a distorted view of the world via his broken glasses. However, since Ron expressed some sort of aversion to the young witch, he had tried to stay aloof from her too, until a fateful Halloween night, when Ron and he saved her from the troll, heralding the first day Hermione Granger came into their lives, foretelling the birth of the Golden Trio. From then onwards, Hermione has filled the role of looking out for him and Ron, keeping them on their toes. She nagged them to keep abreast of schoolwork, to stay disciplined and out of trouble, but when troubles found Harry's life, she jumped in danger alongside him without thinking, her energetic mind working in full mode, never gave up until she could figure things out and provide him answers for coming out of their adventures alive. The compliant student feared expulsion more than death but always willingly went against the rules for his sake over and over again. Hermione set professor Snape's robe on fire in first year when she thought he was cursing Harry, made polyjuice potion illegally in second year helping Harry find out the secret of the second-floor girls' bathroom, used the time turner in third year to help him save Buckbeak and Sirius, lied to Dolores Umbridge, the acting headmistress, to save Harry from her Cruciatus curse and most recently, illegally broke into the Department of Ministry with him and the gang though she knew he was mistaken. The young witch would do anything in her power to help him, she would readily skip meals to teach him a spell and stay watching him in concern, but patiently waiting for him to master the spell into small hours. The girl was terrified of flying but never had a second thought about straddling behind Harry on a beastly hippogriff in mid air to save his Godfather. The girl was exhausted and collapsed on the couch, but, upon being awoken by Harry, still tried her best to hear him out and think of solutions.

Harry would never forget the first time Hermione hugged him with Ron still lying hurt after the chess match. Considering his isolated childhood, Harry was inclined to shying away from human contact, and he hadn't been able to imagine anyone other than his departed parents would come near a "freak", not to mention touching and hugging. However, when Hermione, her face pale with fear, hurtled straight towards him, throwing her arms around him, Harry eagerly welcomed his first hug ever. Her warmth seeped into his body, and Harry Potter shut his eyes tight, slowly tasting all the sweet affection of a hug. Not until much later did Harry know that not all had the heavenly flavor of Hermione's hugs. He had received so many hugs ever since, the bone-crushing ones from Mrs Weasley, the breath-choking hugs typical of Hagrid, the brief floral-scent-filled hug from Ginny, the frequent one arm hugs shared with Ron, the long squeezing hug of Sirius…so many that he couldn't recall, but no hugs felt like those Hermione gave him. Numerous times she hugged him, those witnessed by others never lasting for more than five seconds, the same sensation would still course through his body, being it the long-awaited desperate hug after she revived at the end of second year , or the exhilarating hug after the second task, both dripping wet, or the surprising hug rendering him muffled by her soft bushy hair before he went to trial fifth year, or the apologizing hug when she accidentally punched his arm too hard, or the greeting hug and kissing on the cheeks, or the quick arm-grabbing hug when he came to the Burrows before this school year. Harry reminisced every time, relishing the wonderful familiar sensation that he often found himself longing for. Hermione's hugs made him feel safe, secure, real soothing, and in a fast lightning spark, Harry felt like he was flying his Firebolt, though perfectly grounded in her arms. A feeling was like freedom, whatever burdening his chest got released, his newly-freed heart soared, so subtly that he didn't recognize at first. However, after mulling over the uniquely divine touch her hugs gave to his soul, Harry was startled to realize that was…_happiness_. Plain as the nose on his face, Hermione's hugs made him happy, and Harry was too scared to interpret further. Still, that didn't prevent him from anticipating her priceless hugs when she ran towards him the way she did first year. When she caught him off-guard ,though, he would take the initiative to linger a tad longer in her embrace…_He was not prepared for the hug, nor was he ready to end it that soon…_Perhaps Hermione understood how he felt, she was always content to indulge him until he reluctantly let go of her.

When Hermione was hugging him the first time, she told him he was a great wizard in a coherent voice. The 11-year-old Harry, still dazed with his first hug, and with a girl no less, had the grace to blush, but the sincerity in her eyes gave him a strong sense of self-confidence. Harry had been informed of the "boy-who-lived" legend, had seen people gawk at his scar almost every day, vaguely knowing he was expected by the entire wizarding world to achieve some form of greatness, but it was the certainty in Hermione's manner that started to awaken him to many of inevitable great adventures ahead. The young wizard, imbued with the first awareness of responsibility and maturity, made a silent promise with himself and his parents to fight against dark forces, protecting the world of light and goodness exuding from the young girl who was warmly comforting him.

Thinking back, in sentimental moments when Harry suffered losses of Cedric, and Sirius one year later, he tried to console himself by going down the memory lane to that Halloween night, when he himself wasn't sure why her name crossed his mind immediately after warnings of danger. Harry just knew that danger brought them together, it was also danger that got them to stick close, strengthening the solidarity in the trio after each adventure. Harry held out much hope for the strong bond which would prevent the Golden Trio from ever falling apart. He convinced himself that there would be nothing whatsoever that could separate the three friends. Nevertheless, his self-doubt mounted as the first few years rolled onto 4th and 5th years, tugging at his heartstrings, bespeaking his fears. Danger would bring out his truthful feelings, his instinctive reaction, which was to keep his innermost promise, pushing her out of harm's way, protecting her, holding onto her tight to be reassured that she's safe, that her warm aura of goodness 's still as lucid as ever. Harry was quite certain that in the event of real danger rearing its ugly head at Hermione, he would allow no one, not even Ron, Dumbledore, Hagrid, or the entire Weasley clan, to stand in his way to run to her, to drive away danger, to preserve the invisible ethereal light inside her that he knew only he could feel.

Many a time did he have a hunch that Hermione Granger was destined to be their friends…_that she was_ _destined to be his life-saver, his guardian angel and his soul-healer…and they are meant to share a magical connection, an inextricable link…and she needs only pull her end of the string, he would find his way to her. He knows she would do the same if he pulls his, but let's pray, no need arises for him to do so, and he had been unconsciously trying real hard to refrain from doing that for the past several years…._Harry had no intention to think about it too much, but this gave him the only excuse to selfishly keep her standing by him in each and every step of his journey, although he was painfully aware that hanging around with him put her, and Ron, in danger in a rather personal fight between him and the madman who had wanted to kill him since he was one year old. He felt like a big hypocrite. He wanted to shield her from danger, but he inadvertently kept throwing danger at her, giving Voldemort larger holes to set traps. The selfish part of him needed her so badly that he couldn't bear pushing her away, meaning away from him, to keep her safe. That part of him believed that he wouldn't survive without her brilliant mind, her unwavering support and her passionate devotion. That part of Harry called for her to save him, to give him the lifeline, to keep him safe and sound like she always could. The selfless part of Harry, however, was horrified at the escalating danger he forced her, and Ron, into. That part of him had great urge to tuck her away from Voldemort's field of vision, meaning far away from him, with a view to forever protecting her, along with the magical light within her. _Harry Potter was not safe, nobody around him was safe, either_. The two parts of Harry normally ended up at opposite ends of a tug-of-war, yet when it really came down to it, the selfish part of him always gained ground, what with her persistent defiance against being put way out in left-field. It was not so much her words "We're in this together, Harry! You need us! You don't think you would do this by yourself, do you?" as the steel in her voice, the glint of determination in her eyes piercing through his, the way she held her firm stand in from of him, her chin raised at him, that made his resolve crumble. Whenever confronting that perfect sculpture of power and resistance, of audacity, loyalty and integrity, he found his selfish part chanting-_I need your energy, your ingenuity, your strength, your faith, your trust, your light…I need you, every fiber of you with me, Hermione..I need you, Hermione! So badly, so awfully, so desperately do I need you, Hermione! _until the selfless part broke down in tears of anger and frustration and morbid fear, but could no longer deny the fact that both parts of him needed her, his entire being needed her. Pushing his internal struggle aside, Harry easily let in her, and Ron, or so it seemed to all Hogwarts students and professors.

A good-natured, fun-loving guy, Ron was his first friend, and a part of the Golden Trio. Harry loved Ron, and genuinely valued the hospitality of the Weasley family, but he could foresee a grain of doubt looming in their friendship. Harry quite understood that Ron always felt foreshadowed by the tradition of outstanding achievements set by his older siblings. He was particularly sensible of Ron's basic inferiority complex, and thus, developed a tendency to side with Ron for fear of provoking his jealousy streak. Whereas, Harry would be more than happy to exchange his unwanted fame and gold-filled vaults for a big loving family like what Ron had. Sometimes, his best friend seemed to forget his celebrity status was more of a curse than a blessing, yet Harry never tried to reason with Ron. He felt it necessary to let sleeping dogs lie, and his debt for Ron's family didn't exactly help. Therefore, it didn't come as too big a shock when Ron accused him of putting his name in the Goblet of Fire in their 4th year. Harry could hardly blame him, actually, since the entire school, including the headmaster, was being skeptical. While Harry was extremely disappointed as the seed of doubt about Ron finally found the ground to sprout and he felt bitter for the entire wizarding world turned against him, even in such a dire circumstance, he never felt hopeless, simply because Hermione was there. The concerned look she gave him when Dumbledore called out his name silently reassured him of her unwavering loyalty. Again, her ethereal light filled up his heart, kept him calmly facing hateful glares and malicious rumors.

His chest tightened at the sight of her behind the fat lady portrait, cheeks flushed from running, hands clutching a heap of toast for his breakfast. The familiar chant of his selfish part became ear-splitting, and he couldn't help but fall back on her. The perils of his entering the Triwizard tournament left her badly shaken with worry, Harry could tell, but she was admirably resolute to maintain a positive outlook that he would get through this jeopardy alive. And she turned to her highly logical mind for defense, spent day and night at the library, burying her head deep in myriad books, searching for answers. She was in her element when she went to great lengths to help him, and it was taken for granted that Harry would come to her for support any time. With the enormous pressure of being underage and not sufficiently well-trained, Harry instinctively drew strength from the firmness in her encouraging words, from the surge of faith her comforting hugs imparted to his heart.

She was often worried sick about his safety, though. Her eyes pleading with him to come back safe and sound was powerful enough to sweep away his trepidation, giving way to tenacity, and he felt much stronger than he had ever thought he could be, intent on marching to danger and finishing off, once and for all. And it was Hermione's imploring gaze that eventually gave him the vigor to step out of hiding and face up to the horror of the entire wizarding world-Voldemort- after enduring the Cruciatus curse. He vaguely knew it was due to sheer dumb luck again that he survived his blood-curdling encounter with Voldemort, but he was barely conscious when he managed to bring Cedric's body back to Hogwarts ground. Harry, bloodied and battered, numb with fear and grief, thankfully slumped into Hermione's trembling arms, upon catching her bloodshot eyes, without abandon. Her tearful smile greeted him when he first revived in the Hospital Wing, both of her soft hands clasping his. A pool of warmth spread through his body, affirming his reason to keep fighting and stay alive, as he tried to focus his blurry vision on Hermione's tear-stained face. Harry could feel something major shifted inside him when he watched teardrops gently roll down her cheeks, glistening in the early dawnlight. In his mind, he contrasted her red-rimmed eyes and chapped lips with her twinkling eyes and rosy lips when she gracefully glided down the stairs in an elegant periwinkle dress, flashing him a bright smile at the Yule ball. Harry remembered the dark look on Ron's face when Hermione was caught in Victor Krum's strong hold. He was even more painfully aware of her face flushing red with anger at Ron for having not asked her to the ball. The selfless part of Harry was wailing in protest._ All he has to give her are dread and fear, and anguish, and danger while Ron can secure a cheerful life, free of constant worry and distress, for her. His life is filled with nightmare, how can he bring himself to drag her down his dark pit of misery? There's no telling that he would be able to push his luck further, and it is clear that attachment to him only leads to harms…He knows she cares for his best friend, and Ron is wearing his heart on his sleeve, and it is no longer possible to ignore that she and Ron…that Ron and she…that they…_ The ghost of a smile soon turned into a grimace when Harry was unable to finish that train of thought. Hermione kept her warm smile, her magical aura dazzling his senses, but Harry felt cold stabbing his heart. He slowly pulled his hand out of her grasp, channeled all his poignant feelings in a last longing gaze, unknown pain gripping his heart when she hastily wiped away her tears, before shutting his heavy eyes, faking tiredness. _Harry decides that it is best to let go of what he has never taken hold of...He'd better start to practice feeling happy for his best friends. He is consoled that he could entrust her life to Ron's care. He is confident that Ron loves her and would make her laugh merrily with his jokes or drive her into a frenzy, cheeks adorably pink, with his naivety. Ron would dote on her, compliment her brilliance and make her feel special and happy…As for himself, Harry would tuck away his heart, along with whatever feelings that threaten to throttle him with dejection and deep hurt. He would easily step back, playing the carefree third wheel, and, somewhat to his wistfulness, Hermione's best friend, who would continue to count on her for answers, admire her talents, respect her opinions, confide in her, trust her with his life, share with her happy times, comfort her in bad times, defend her and keep her from getting hurt in anyway possible, but never be able to look at her, want her, desire her that way…He still has her steadfast friendship, her faithfulness, her protection, her commitment to him, also, as her best friend. As long as she is present in his life, Harry feels safe, and his hope for a peaceful life, free of Voldemort, for the wizarding world, for Hogwarts, for his friends, for the Weasley family, for Ron, and for her never dies…_That hope comforted Harry, he fell into a fitful sleep, images of green bolts from the Killing curse flashed with Voldemort's scarlet eyes, Hermione's haloed face glowing above like a guardian angel, filling his dreams. When he woke up, both of his best friends were there, jovial Ron and concerned Hermione, the trio stayed strong. Things soon went back to normal, and Harry looked upon Hermione with a swell of gratitude and purely platonic affection, adamantly ignoring the shiver down his spine when she kissed him goodbye on the cheek for the first time at the end of 4th year.

The following school year, Ron and Hermione became prefects and spent a great deal more time together when Harry was alarmingly assaulted with nightmares of Voldemort. Although Hermione kept complaining about Ron's slack attitudes, and his two best friends bickered more frequently, Harry knew they got much closer than ever, both secretly enjoying their banters. Harry felt like trespassing onto dangerous properties if he delved further into the fact that his best friends appeared to all Hogwarts student and professors like an old married couple. It would be a lot safer to remain a begrudging pacifier, showing irritation at their petty rows, or shrugging it off altogether. His happiness for his two best friends was sincere, yet somewhere in the deep recesses of his heart, Harry was agonized by his raw sense of powerlessness to give Hermione what Ron could. There was always Voldemort between her and Harry. Their discussion was about planning, fighting, DA meetings, Protean charms, defense against Dark Arts and something of the sort. Nothing about his life was normal, and he would and could gladly watch her rejoicing in normalcy with Ron, just arguing, teasing and having fun. Still, sometimes, Harry couldn't help but feel bitterness, fuelled with nightmarish visions of Voldemort in his particularly eventful 5th year. He resented it when she always appeared anxious and ill-at-ease around him, but so laid-back in her meaningless squabbles with Ron. He felt angry when she kept pushing him into dreadful occlumency sessions with Snape as she and Ron had their quality time during prefect rounds. Harry knew that she did it in his best interests, but Snape kept his vile attitudes, and those dreadful sessions hardly ever saw his improvement. Instead, he was forced to relive unpleasant memories, and the idea of sneering Snape in his head made him feel nauseous.

In all honesty, it helped a little to distract himself by purporting to pursue Cho Chang, who was the most popular girl in school with her exotic beauty and her good skills in Quidditch. It felt strange, even to Harry himself, that he found Hermione's fear for flying rather endearing while his forte was undoubtedly flying, and playing Quidditch, which gave him exhilarating moments to kick his Firebolt off from the ground and soar to sky high. More than once did he yearn to pick her up on a magic ride, showing her how wondrous it felt to loiter among soft clouds watching amber sunset, and the sense of freedom flying offered, and the reason he loved flying that much. He was certain that she would understand him since she even knew him better than himself. Inasmuch as, he intended to go for someone who loves flying and playing Quidditch, athletic, outgoing type of girl if he seriously wanted to coax Hermione out of danger zone in his heart, and keep her safe in the " best friends" compartment. Cho Chang was a convenient option, seeing that he had been attracted to her for a while. Therefore, in the requirement room, under the mistletoe, with a pressing of two lips, Harry and Cho became a couple. The first kiss was a far cry from his childish fantasy. It was wet and filled with sorrow. Obviously, Cho was thinking of Cedric when kissing him, and Harry was well aware that his attention could never offset the absence of her deceased boyfriend. More than anyone else, Harry thought, did he know how Cho felt, the undefined guilt nagging at his mind when he tried, in vain, to substitute a special someone with another. To make matters worse, Harry couldn't help but wondering about Hermione's reaction when she found out. He was torn between keeping to himself, scared that she would take his cue as culmination of any chances of them being more than best friends to officially date Ron without doubt, and announcing the news to his two best friends, silently giving his agreement to them dating. Nobility running deep in his veins, Harry opted for the latter. After all, dating Cho was an act of decisive appreciation for his best friends as a couple. However, Hermione's odd behaviors further bewildered Harry. She was slightly prying one second, and then sounded nonchalant the next. She claimed to be supportive, giving him lots of "girl problem" advice, but Harry highly doubted that she was being earnest when her so-called advice was barely helpful.

Harry anticipated his Valentine date at Madam Pudifoot's only to see things go awry, when he had to cut off his plan with Cho and came straight to Hermione without having second thoughts. Harry felt it must be something important to his well-being for Hermione to disrupt his date, but it was the belief that it mattered most to her that drove him to cut short his date, though he could tell that upset Cho considerably. Harry, thus, entered a relationship, ironically, with certainty that it could only stretch for so long. It was when Cho started expressing her resentment towards his best friend that Harry felt there was no point in continuing a false relationship. He just couldn't take it when Hermione was being insulted by anyone, including his girlfriend, and any meager feelings he had for Cho at that moment soon evaporated. His heart quicker than his mind, he felt it was important he speak in defense of his best friend, finalizing his relationship with Cho Chang. Harry knew then, Hermione was the most important person in his life, and no one could ever replace her in his heart.

If Harry had been convinced that 4th year was a horrible nightmare, then 5th year was horrendous beyond his wildest dream, what with painful visions of Voldermort's attacks, the Ministry's infiltration with the abhorrent Dolores Umbridge, his bitterness at Ron and Hermione, and his rocky relationship with Cho. Meanwhile, Hermione kept looking after him dutifully. She was concerned about his connection with Voldemort, nagging him about Occlumency. She watched his relationship with Cho closely, listening to his girl problems and offering advice when necessary. She arranged an interview with Rita Skeeter to broadcast Voldemort's return in hopes of helping him convince the Ministry, no matter how much the foul journalist had hurt her pride in the past. Harry was impressed that his best friend didn't seem to mind asking the nasty witch she really detested when it came down to his welfare. Hermione also talked him into leading the Dumbledore's Army, which became the one bright light in his 5th year. Again, her fervent conviction, her complete trust in him removed all traces of doubt, and it was at the weekly DA meeting that Harry felt most bolstered, knowing they were getting ready for the imminent battle against the dark.

Harry was extremely grateful for her steadfast friendship, but there were times he felt almost suffocated with her undivided attention when he was not allowed to consider her as more than his best friend. It became increasingly hard to trudge directly to his dorm after each Snape's Occlumency session, pretending he didn't see her sit quietly in a corner waiting for him. It stung him bitterly to harshly pull away when she grabbed his injured hand after the torturing detention with Umbridge. It was all he could do not to grip her delicate hands, throw his arms around her, and break down right in front of Ron when she was gently applying Murtlap salve to his red scar on the back of his hand. Harry Potter felt like a scared lonesome child then, with many cruel forces against him. He felt an intense longing to just quit being noble and cross the lines, reaching out for her like he always secretly wanted. The pricking pain on his hand was nothing compared to the pangs in his heart.

Harry's internal struggle was weighing down on him, the Gryffindor lion in him felt either so angry sometimes, unsheathing its claws, or sulky at others, staying aloof and gnawing away at his heartache alone. Harry desperately wanted her near him, but it really hurt to fake upbeat attitude about her and Ron while he was falling deeper in the abyss of dejection. He felt hostile to everything about him. He pushed her away, feeling more dismayed at her tenseness about his safety. He snapped at her more often, feeling it safer to ignore her and just brood. Conflicts were mounting up, exploding when Hermione was trying to tell him that his vision of Sirius might be a trap, yet again boldly confront him with his "saving-people- thing". It seemed to pain her to tell him the truth, she looked so fretful and vulnerable then that he heard a voice screaming at him to squeeze her hands, to put him arms protectively around her shoulders and hold her tight, telling her that everything would be alright, that he would be alright for her. Yet, he suddenly remembered that Ron was there watching them, and the boundary inherently set between them crashed down on him again. A fresh wave of bitterness coursed through him. W_hy did it __**always**__ have to be her?_ _Why was it __**only**__ her who could see through him, understand him better than anyone else, and pull him out of depression when he was deliberate on closing off the outside world? Why was she the __**only**__ one who could say "Voldemort", producing a magical soothing effect on him? Why, among all of his Gryffindor housemates, including Ron, at the dining table in the great Halls, did __**only**__ her notice and get alarmed when his scar was burning? Why? _ A chain of questions was bursting on the tip of his tongue, Harry concentrated on his breathing, trying to swallow another surge of yearning…_Hermione seemed to always know what he was thinking, but she had no bloody idea how much she meant to him, how much he longed for her, how much it hurt to keep crushing the aching desire to gather her in his arms, and claim her his…_

His heart deeply wounded, the Gryffindor lion within Harry roared in defiance. He refused to listen to Hermione though his guts were telling him otherwise. Furthermore, Hermione was right, his "saving-people-thing", now that identified and stimulated, would not have him sitting idly when his Godfather might be in grave danger. That was how Harry and his friends ended up in a fierce battle in the Department of Ministry, and it turned out he had to pay a very dear price for not considering Hermione's opinion carefully. The DOM battle was his biggest mistake, and it literally tore him apart realizing there was absolutely no turning back. Even had he cried his eyes out, or cut every part of his body, or ripped his hear and smashed it, he wouldn't have been able to change anything at all.

Harry spent a good long time mourning Sirius, missing the only father figure he'd ever had, yet had to part with him far too soon, but what hit him hardest was having to witness Hermione on the verge of death. It was one thing to perceive the morbidly high possibility of those close to him facing danger, but it was entirely another to see the most important person in his life struck with a nearly fatal curse with his own eyes. With a terrible fate upon his shoulders, Harry Potter was prone to pessimism, he pictured his own death countless times. He also envisioned other tragic deaths of his friends, professors, the Weasley family, members of the order of the Phoenix in the darkest of time, but never had he dared think of any possible situation that Hermione was hurt or worse, gone forever. He normally survived everyday by consciously burying away those preposterous thoughts, so when his worst fear came alive, the sky above his head was collapsing, the ground beneath his feet was sinking, the whole world turned upside down. His heart stopped, his soul left his body, his entire system was totally shut down the moment the purple curse shot from Dolohov's wand straight to Hermione's chest. Harry stood numbly, watching her crumble on the floor with so much as a tiny exclamation of surprise, before reflexively falling to his knees beside her. Harry started to shake her, gently at first, but when she remained motionless, excruciating panic buzzing his ears, outcry of protest ringing in his head, he grabbed both her shoulders, lifting her up, shaking her violently…A cacophony of chaos nearby, there were thundering sounds of explosion, of random curses blasting, of glass shattering, of wooden shelves falling, of cement ceilings crashing, of walls tumbling, of death-eaters yelling...but nothing mattered to Harry anymore, other than the limp girl in his arms. Her pale cheeks still warm, Hermione looked like she was sleeping peacefully, tresses of soft brown hair lightly framing her face, her eyelashes fanning downward. _She was so pretty that he wanted to kiss her right that moment, to devour the feel of her, to cradle her like this forever…and if she never woke up, he would just step directly in front of a killing curse and fall into an eternal sleep with her…_Harry was urgently pressing his right cheek on hers, desperate for the lingering warmth there. He cuddled her head closer to his chest, rocking her hysterically, his demented mind picturing a paradise with the girl he loved above all else. He didn't notice Neville crawling out from his hiding place, approaching them and checking Hermione's right wrist until he told Harry he found a pulse. It took a moment for the significance of Neville's words to sink in, and when it did, Harry involuntarily closed his eyes, overwhelmed with relief like never before, and he could hear his heart throb painfully in his ribcage for the first time. If Neville saw big fat tears stream down his cheeks, he wouldn't feel in the least bit embarrassed.

Hermione survived the curse, and after taking lots of potions for a whole month, she was restored to health, but the image of her falling haunted his dreams, acute senses of guilt mercilessly beating up his soul every night. The selfless part of him was shouting obscenities, kicking him unrelentingly hard in the guts while its selfish counterpart shrunk in a ball, weeping in total defeat and tremendous remorse. Harry was wretchedly resigned to the fact that he was stringently forbidden to project any tiniest form of love onto anyone, least of all, the most important girl to him._ How foolhardy of him! His love is not a mere curse, but a blunt death penalty…_To top it all, professor Dumbledore divulged the spine-chilling prophecy that compelled him to find some mysterious power if he wanted to beat his arch nemesis. It crucified his heavy heart further to hear a testimony to his insanely despicable destiny. _He cannot survive, unless the bloody bastard Tom Riddle dies, and Merlin's Mercy, only with his own hands. Fantastic! Scar-head "Rotter", who could barely master a simple summoning charm without Hermione, would be the only one in the entire bloody wizarding world competent enough to face the most powerful dark wizard…Is it another horror joke of the batty old woman Trelawny or has his life turned topsy-turvy again, even when he thought it couldn't get any more haywire? And Professor Dumbledore had to go mad as a hatter saying he was everyone's only hope…_Harry had wasted another good amount of time scoffing at worldly insanity and cursing his own fates before bringing himself to ruminate reality.

Long time ago, little Hermione told little Harry was a great wizard with the strongest of conviction a young girl could muster, inaugurating chapters of perilous adventures. More than five years later, a prophecy was disclosed, throwing light on numerous events of his otherwise mysteriously eccentric life, signaling the time to stop playing cat and mouse with Riddle, to come forward and fight head-on, and end those deadly escapades for good…_Things have gone on for too long, not without tragic consequences. If the wizarding world counts on him to fight, he will, with neither hesitation nor fear. If he has to die eradicating the Voldemort plague, so be it! He had nothing of himself to lose. If little Harry took it upon himself to preserve all virtues in the world radiating from little Hermione, then a 16-year-old Harry, who had learned and seen far more terrors than any normal teenager had, could vow to do everything in his power to cleanse the world off all contaminating vices, uproot the weeds of evils so that light and goodness could blossom, freely and generously, for the wizarding world, for Hogwarts-his home, for his friends and the Weasley clan, and for the beautiful 17-year-old Hermione , his sole life beacon…_He wondered how everyone came to think of him as their hope when he wouldn't have kept his without his best friends. Then, it suddenly dawned on him…_How wrong the Headmaster and everyone are! It's Hermione! She is always full of hope for him, her hope for the world to embrace and keep him going, her hope for him alone to take and treasure as the dearest gift of his own…She must be safe…He must keep her safe!_

Although Harry did not, for all intents and purposes, believe in God, he spent the rest of his dragging summer before 6th year praying, with the most sacred of worship, for justice to be done, evil to be conquered, and peace to be reestablished in both Muggle and wizarding worlds. He ardently prayed to all the Saints in heaven that Hogwarts, his respectable professors, his close friends and those he deeply cares for would survive the ordeal; that his Hermione would finally live a normal, secure and happy life, in an unprejudiced world, with Ron perhaps, or with any guy who was worthy of her love. Since the unfortunate incident at DOM, both the selfish and selfless parts of Harry had presumed to assail his mind incessantly with the single chant…_fighting and protection; killing and victory, dying and freedom…_Needless to say, serious romantic love, particularly, the one-and-only, once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, was the furthest thing from his conscious mind. Harry Potter was irrevocably convinced that true love was out of reach. After such a long hard time carving that grim yet hard-and-fast belief in every groove of his murky brain, his constant heartache during 5th year went numb. Thus, in case, thought Harry hazily, Ron or some prince Charming came along and swept Hermione off her feet, he wouldn't be able to do anything but walk away, never feeling whole again.

Harry was immersed in one of the most fleshed-out introspection, his fond gaze upon his best friend at all time. Hermione kept her head hung low, still drawing ambiguous shapes on her half-finished plate with the silver fork, her lips slightly curving in a hidden smile. The fact that Harry had no clues what amused her didn't keep him from wearing a goofy smile of his own. To his amazement, whenever seeing such tiny smiles from Hermione, his coarse heart, deeply wounded with bereavement and repentance, heavily guarded with apathy and insolence, would soften instantly as if snuggled in a fluffy velvet quilt and warm up as if surrounded by thousands of candles. The feel of Hermione's hand on his thigh shook him out of his reverie. He quirked one eyebrow, unable to hide a light blush, and mouthed."What?"

She just looked at him, mirth in her twinkling eyes, her cheeks curiously flushed, the corner of her mouth twitching further. Harry swore he would reach out and pinch her lips right then to wipe that evil smirk off her bright face, but she beat him to it, leaning in close.

"The door." said Hermione in a hushed tone, almost simultaneously with the booming voice of the party's host. "What an honor! Miss Ginevra Weasley! Come in! Come in!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: first and foremost, I could have updated much sooner, yet when my computer installed new updates, I accidentally lost everything I wrote. In fact, I was a bit disheartened, but the plot kept bugging me, so I decided to rewrite. Please understand, this is probably the less refined version.**

**1, Well I received quite a few complaints. I know, my paragraphs are huge, and I tried to break them down this time, but well, they feel like broken train of thoughts **

**2, Actually, I never intended to write fic. I wrote this, mostly for myself, trying to make an in-depth interpretation of Harry's subconscious. Harry Potter was deprived of love and had an unfortunate life, so I think Harry's psyche must be more complicated than in canon. The whole point of chap 2 is directing canon Harry to the point of having intense feelings for Hermione. If you notice, all events are canon-compliant, and I tried to tackle every single point canon shippers used against Harmony. It was so much easier than I thought, and I am confident that I actually managed to find evidence that canon Harry had feelings for his best friends. You just need to look beyond the boundary of Rowling's words, which are merely the tip of the iceberg. Even in DH, it still looks like there is much more to canon Harry's internal world than what is normally taken for granted by most readers. Really, I share this in hopes of convincing you guys of my belief that canon Harry does love Hermione. The situation can be radically changed if you look at things from a different perspective.**

**3, One of the most typical and obsolete reasons people think that Harry doesn't have feelings for Hermione is pretty superficial. They are convinced that Harry just likes pretty, popular girl, and that's why Ginevra Weasley had to basically undergo an unfounded transformation. Thus, in this next update, Ginevra is depicted as a stunning beauty, but you'll see, Harry's heart truly belongs to Hermione. This is also the heart of my bunny plot. I had considerable difficulty writing about Ginny. To be frank, I don't like her, at all, but I promise, this won't have any bashing, since every character deserves compassion! I won't lie to you guys, though. I found myself picturing Emma Watson when I described Ginevra, so well, it might not sound right. **

**4, Ah, the harp melody is actually "Harry&Hermione", HBP's ost. ****I really love the song. There's an air of quiet sorrow cast above, quiet yet sharp like a knife piercing our soul. There're ups and downs, there's moments of peace and comfort, of fears and hesitation, of desires and guilt. There is also climatic life-threatening danger. Yet running deeper through the entire melody, or their entire adventure, is the constant of love. This sums up Harry&Hermione perfectly! If possible, you guys might want to listen to understand how Harry feels in the story. **

**5, Just for fun, yet still holding some significance, I suppose. If Hermione has a favorite flower, I'd like to think it is Peruvian lily, symbolic of friendship and devotion and purity. **

**6, Such a long-winded A/N, I know, yet this chap is quite short, so I think I'll spare some space for a little clarification. **

**Lastly, thank you all for constructive opinions. I did try, yet I am afraid my lack of experience needs a lot of work here. I fervently hope you guys can see the purpose of this story, i.e., to nail down Harmony, once and for all! **

**Onto the story…**

Hermione started to rub his thigh absentmindedly, not particularly making it easier for him to concentrate. Harry blinked twice before managing to put two and two together. He turned his head towards the entrance door, a bemused look still on his face, only to suck in a raspy breath. Ginevra Weasley had promenaded inside, now lingering at the center of the meeting room. She was illuminated in the rich butter yellow light of the chandelier above. Her strapless evening gown looked as if it were carved out of an enormous emerald gemstone, studded with glittering diamonds, and light ruffles cascading along the lines of her body, accentuating her sensual curves. Ginevra was wearing her fiery hair in a regal updo with a white flower headband, stray red ringlets around her face. Had she worn a pair of transparent wings, Harry would have thought a magnificent green fairy was spraying the party with golden pixie dusts. He noticed almost everyone stopped eating and looked up to admire the glamorous witch who had just arrived without her date, while Hermione turned back to playing with dinnerware. The so-called object of admiration smiled bashfully before approaching the round table, settling herself gracefully in the empty chair directly opposite him. Her lilting voice rose softly against the otherwise silent room. "Good evening, everyone! Sorry, I am late! I hope you all are having a fabulous time! The decorations are quite lovely, professor Slughorn!"

His wrinkled face contorted in unadulterated contentment, the potion professor welcomed her compliment with a burst of hearty guffaw. He commenced to drone on a detailed history of the decorative Arts during the Victorian era, as well as modifications of the style over time. Quite a few students, mostly those sitting closest to the professor, appeared to listen to him with rapt attention when Harry was trying to suppress a yawn. They had finished desserts, but professor Slughorn didn't show any signs of wanting to stop speaking about modernization of Victorian furniture. Harry got an impression that the club party had turned into one of Professor Binns' history classes.

Hermione remained strangely quiet, seemingly preoccupied in a world of her own, so Harry didn't have the heart to bother her. He stared unseeingly straight ahead, until his eyes fell upon the stunning profile of Ginevra Weasley. He soon found himself eyeing the pretty redhead like a museum visitor was leisurely scrutinizing a painting. Despite learning of her attractiveness, Harry had never chanced such a close look at Ginevra before, and he had to admit he was absolutely astounded that Ron's sister had indeed grown to become quite a winsome young lady. With flaming red hair arrayed in a stylish bun, graced with elaborate flowers , a touch of makeup highlighting her long, thick, curly eyelashes, her perfectly straight nose prominent on her porcelain face, the elegant curve of her chin and slender neck, Ginevra 's features were a delightful blend of vivacity and sophistication. It was, in fact, not too much of incredulity if Harry really considered the matter. Ron, his best friend, was also told to be particularly eye-catching with his similarly outstanding copper mane, his tall and sinewy build from years of playing Quidditch, not to mention the fact that the rest of the Weasley children were acceptably handsome-looking.

Harry was about to revert to blank staring out of boredom again when the object of his ogling suddenly turned and looked right in his direction. She winked at him, her soft pink blush growing a shade deeper, and he started to feel a little wee bit hotter getting caught red-handed. He instinctively turned away to avoid the palpable awkwardness, but caught Hermione's eyes instead. His stomach instantly dropped at the familiar indecipherable emotions churning in her brown orbs. His best friend gave him a large grin, which, if anything, just made her slightly moist eyes look more rueful. Harry was getting more worried, he didn't think he could put off asking her any longer. _Just a simple "Are you all right?" that they had been asking each other countless times in the past will do._

He reached out, squeezing her hand slightly and opened his mouth to ask when extremely loud pops nearly jolted him out of his seat. It slipped his notice that professor Slughorn had finally finished his extracurricular harangue, a couple of house elves were doing magic to clean up after the feast. In a matter of seconds, the round mahogany surface was smooth, glossy and without a speck of food crumbs or dusts. Before Harry could gather his wits, and rub his aching knees, Hermione had already hastily pulled away, currently in the process of having a smart talk with Terry Boot, appearing quite cheerful again. He cursed under his breath, taking his frustration out on his innocent black mop, rendering it even more disheveled. Jarring music abruptly blasted from the magical firefly corner, catching him off-guard, yet again. Though Harry knew his potion professor could be gaudy and a tad outlandish, he had never been cognizant of his awfully bad timing.

The initially tedious party was getting boisterous, with loud and discordant wizarding music in the background, people started shuffling to the dance floor. An assortment of wizarding alcoholic drink was being levitated from the imposing Victorian wine cabinet to the round table. Afloat in midair were crystal goblets magically replenished with swirling liquids of flame firewhiskey, burgundy Sherry, gold champagne and many other colorful beverages. This, in all probability, would be a wondrous sight to behold for Muggles, but not a single person at the party bat an eyelid. Some were chatting amicably and others swinging vigorously along the hectic music. Couples, scattered around the room, were snuggling and flirting with each other. Harry was sitting in a plush couch, getting rather grumpy, while his date was engaged in what seemed like a lively discussion with Boot and professor Slughorn, who had recently joined them.

To Harry's amusement, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom arrived shortly afterwards. The pair was a striking contrast between the former draped in a long-sleeved, floor-length black frock, with a tight embroidered bodice and the latter, who was clad in an unblemished white robe with a black bow tie. In a combination of Wizarding and Victorian style, the couple looked quaintly attuned to professor Slughorn's party. Sleek blonde hair swept aside, and the slimy mimbulus mimbletonia tucked in his arm, his dorm mate was immediately recognizable, yet Harry couldn't have told the girl by his side was his loony Ravenclaws friend, but for her eminent radish earrings and butterbeer cork necklace.

They spotted Harry and promptly walked arm in arm to the couch he was sitting. The three friends talked about nothing significant, but their congenial conversation lifted Harry's mood remarkably. It had been nearly half a year since Neville's grandmother allowed him to get his own wand after the one inherited from his father had been broken in the DOM battle, but his enthusiasm remained at its height. He raved about how the cherry wood wand felt more comfortable, boosting his confidence in casting spells. He even went further to illustrate them with some simple hexes, and Harry, quickly switching to DA leader mode, complemented with useful tricks in wand-holding as well as wand movement skills. Luna impressed two Gryffindors with her authority on rare charms. Harry could imagine a collaboration of Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger would most likely result in a menace to the dark forces, feeling a swell of pride in Hogwarts students. They exchanged brief talks about courses they were taking this school year before Luna began her mythical creature ranting. She warned Neville of a nonexistent magical bug that exclusively infested the mimbulus mimbletonia, making it explode with dark green flame, irreparably damaging the plant. Neither boys seemed to believe her, but Luna appeared pretty serious, as serious as her constant dreamy smile could offer, giving a specific description of physical appearance, eating habit and breeding season of the imaginary magical parasite. Harry politely pretended to be paying attention. However, when Luna examined the squirming mimbulus mimbletonia with a conjured magnifying glass, and Neville pointed his wand at the so-called plant, looking grim as if some unknown explosion could happen any minute, Harry burst out laughing. The odd couple shared a look of confusion before joining him, and the three friends were soon rolling on the couch with cheery laughter.

Loud music had just then eased into a mellifluous, slow melody. All lights were dimmed noticeably. Magical fireflies whirled all over the place before arranging themselves in a glowing heart-shaped portal to the dance floor. The entire atmosphere was coated in an aura of romance. Neville waltzed Luna to the dance floor without a word of invitation while Harry was sitting frozen, his hardened eyes transfixed on a dancing couple closely behind the portal. Hermione was twirling in a circle, her skirt billowing out around her, her thick brown hair laced with myriad golden fireflies, a childlike smile aglow on her face. She rose slowly on tiptoe to capture one evasive luminous firefly, but lost her balance. Harry's heart skipped a beat. No sooner had he sprung up from his seat than his best friend fell into the strong arms of Cormac McLaggen. Such was the tenderness in her eyes as Hermione was smiling gratefully at the 7th year Gryffindor that Harry felt like it was squeezing his weakened heart. He was rooted to the spot when the couple resumed dancing. McLaggen had both of his hands on her waist possessively while she settled hers upon the guy's broad shoulders. Neither of the pair was particularly skilful at dancing, yet in Harry's eyes, they were the center of the ball. The world seemed to zoom in on his date and her dancing partner when they were moving fluidly back and forth, magical fireflies dancing around them, wrapping them in their shimmering light of featherlight kisses. McLaggen lifted her chin up, forcing her to look at him, but Hermione quickly averted her eyes to the ground. Harry unconsciously balled his hand into a tight fist. His heart grew ice-cold but a blazing fire was licking his guts, climbing up his chest and burning his parched throat. If he looked any longer, Harry surmised, he might literally burst into flames, so he deliberately veered away from the dance floor and decided to grab a cold butterbeer to soothe the burning feeling.

There was no one around the dining area. Beverages of all types were laid still on the round table, except for the gurgling sound from the goblet when ice was magically added. Harry was about to pick up a mug of frothy butterbeer when his eyes caught a bottle of Odgen's old time firewhiskey, next to which was a cup of chestnut amber swirling liquid. The flickering flames apparently spurting out of ice cubes were an enthralling emblem of the infinite realm of magic, but all he could see was a poignant reflection of his within, a burning fire erupting from a heart of ice. Temptation blurring his senses and drowning Hermione's voice in his head saying that he was doing something improper, Harry reached out for the forbidden drink without a second thought, at the same time as another female hand. Both hands brushed and recoiled almost simultaneously.

"Excuse me!" A familiar silvery voice clashed with his guttural one. "Sorry!"

"Ginny?" Harry looked up, quite surprised to see the youngest Weasley.

"H-harry!" cried Ginevra, open-mouthed, her eyes widening.

"Yeah, it's me—" Harry chuckled softly but, suddenly remembering something, immediately sharpened his tone, "-wait, Ginevra Weasley, don't tell me you are planning to sneak some firewhiskey!"

He narrowed his eyes at the redhead delinquent, but she looked amused instead of apologetic, laughter ostensibly bubbling on her face. Moments of perplexity had elapsed before he spontaneously flicked his eyes down to the firewhikey cup, which was puffing faint smokes into thin air as the flames dwindled inside. What originally led him to this place dawning on him, Harry quickly saw the humor of the situation he had somehow gotten himself into with the young redhead, who was apparently trying to keep a straight face. Unlike Ginevra, he saw no purpose in holding his laughter.

"Fair enough!" Harry commented, his voice sounding much less serious than intended. He continued, flashing the flustered witch a friendly smile," Shall I say…er…fancy a butterbeer instead?"

For some reason, Harry felt quite relieved that Ginevra had appeared just in time..._H__e was so close to disappointing Hermione, and he by no means wanted her to burn the midnight oil making hangover potion_...

"Well, thank you! I'd love to, Harry!" Ginevra's voice brought him back to the present. She was smiling brightly, her deep eyes putting on a dreamy sheen not dissimilar to Luna's.

"Cool! I got yours." With a swish of his wand, two glasses of foaming butterbeer lifted themselves off the table and trailed behind as Harry headed for the plush couch. The redhead followed him eagerly.

"This is comfy…" _And has a clear view of the dance floor_, Harry thought, as he plopped himself down in the same seat he had been sitting since the ball started. Ginevra offered no reply, but joined him on the other end of the couch. His eyes unwittingly scanned the room until they dropped upon a certain couple, who had moved to the far end corner, still swaying slowly to the mellow wordless song. They were standing so close to each other that Harry started to feel stifled just looking on them. He took a big gulp of his butterbeer, feeling the bubbly liquid gushing down his scorched throat, leaving frosty bites on his tongue. Harry never knew any kind of the ordinarily sweet butterbeer could leave an acrid aftertaste like the one prepared by professor Slughorn, but he finished his drink in no time, craving for more of the unfamiliar raw chills.

"How are you doing, Harry?" asked Ginevra suddenly, reminding Harry that he had company.

"Great! Excellent!" was his instant reply. Wincing at how fake it sounded, he added lamely, "Yeah…I mean…I am doing very well." Harry earnestly didn't want to delve further into his mental and emotional health at that point, so he quickly asked his best friend's sister, trying to change the topic. "Ah…I almost forgot. Where's Dean?"

Several moments passed in silence. Harry wasn't anticipating a reply, though. In fact, he was hypnotized as a harp melody was gently dripping into his ears. The serene, hushed, flowing music had a very distinctly bittersweet undertone that was pricking at the depth of his forlorn soul. Harry was staring blindly at numerous glowing balls of fireflies sailing around the dance floor, his mind wandering to a brunette bathed with their ethereal luminescence, when he spotted Neville and Luna. His dorm mate waved at him, smiling happily, with Luna snuggling cozy in his arms. Harry's face broke into a genuine smile as he simultaneously perceived the zenith of passion bursting forth with a strong note of triumph in the sublime melody, making his heart flutter.

"He couldn't come." Ginevra said emotionlessly, cutting into his trance.

Harry turned to look at the redhead for the first time since they'd been sitting together. Trying to appear understanding, he opined, half in a jest. "Ah, I see. You were late today…staying behind for a quick snog, eh?" Harry was down in the dumps, yet seeing his friends in their newfound bliss alleviated his ache. He thought they might do with an uplifting joke, but Ginevra looked sharply at him, not impressed with his wry sense of humor.

"Harry…," she fell silent, but continued to search his face before speaking quietly. "There is something I've always wanted to tell you…," she took in a shaky breath, tears welling up her eyes, "b-but I…I don't really know how."

Harry was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He had enough experience with crying girls to know that something he had tactlessly said about Dean upset the young lady next to him. He noticed her fingers were gripping the mug of saffron liquid, foamy top at its rim. Harry let out a soft sigh before scooting closer, nudging the frozen cup out of her hands and setting it on the rug under his feet. He nodded encouragingly at the redhead. "Ginny, it's alright. I am right here. Just tell me!"

Ginevra faced him fully. Yet instead of telling him what was bothering her, she began to fix his tie, which came loose and dangled around his neck after he had tugged at the disturbing garment carelessly many times. Harry vaguely wondered when she had learned to tie a Muggle cravat, but he soon realized that the redhead witch didn't really know how. Somehow, watching Ginevra fiddle with his necktie as an excuse to touch his chest gingerly, he knew what she wanted to tell him. Harry sighed inwardly, again feeling embittered by the notion of love. He hated to hurt anyone's feelings, but he felt that his personal space was being invaded, and he had to stop whatever it was Ron's sister was thinking before too late. As gently as possible, Harry pushed her hands away.

"No! Ginny, stop! I am very sorry, but I…I can't …" He trailed off, finding it much harder than he thought to reject someone, but added in a more determined voice, "Please understand! I just can't do this. It is not fair for you!"

Not unexpectedly, Ginevra flung her arms around his neck and sobbed violently. _Way to go, Potter! So much for consoling crying girls, _Harry thought gravely. He tentatively stroked her back, but the tiny rhinestones on her dress felt rough in his hands, so he settled for patting it awkwardly. He waited for her to calm down a little bit before pulling away, putting both hands on her shoulders and smiling truthfully at the delicate redhead. Her puffy red eyes didn't make her look any less pretty.

"Ron is like a brother I've never had, and I am always grateful for his friendship and your family's hospitality and generosity. I do care for you, Ginny, the way Ron does, and I would very much love to be able to take care of you like he or any of your wonderful brother. I think I understand how you feel, but I am not…not the right one." Harry stopped momentarily, contemplating how to get his points across, before articulating with utmost sincerity. "Someday, you'll understand when you find the other half of your soul, who loves you wholeheartedly, irrevocably and unconditionally, and will be more than happy to spend the rest of his life loving you that way. For now, Ginny, search your heart, carefully, deeply and thoroughly, and let it go! Set your heart free and send it soaring to new horizons, embarking on magical adventures until your heart finds its home!"

New tears coursed down Ginevra's cheeks. She fiercely wiped them away with the back of her wrists, sniffing loudly. "Y-y-you s-said y-yo-ou c-ca-are f-for m-me?"

"There, that's the strong Ginny I know." Harry mused aloud, but knew to hold back his thoughts, _and the cute baby sister I always wish for, _while silently conjuring a green silk handkerchief folded neatly into a rose, which he gave the redhead in a gentlemanly gesture. "I most certainly do care, young lady! Now, would you awfully mind handing a modest gift of this green rose to a gorgeous green fairy in this room, as a token of my sincere affection?"

More tears alighted on the silk rose, forming translucent dewdrops curling up in the green petals, which glimmered softly in Ginevra's palms as a look of rapture flickered over her face. She looked up, smiling in pure wonderment, her eyes bright and clear, without a trace of tears. The imperceptible nod from the redhead finally came, and they both heaved a sigh of relief. Harry himself couldn't help but marvel that another wicked trick of Hermione had just saved him from yet again a fairly complicated situation. He suddenly felt very curious about what her snow white Peruvian lily would do with teardrops. He was not quite certain how he knew, whereas he conceded to himself long ago that he knew not a thing about love, but what he could say so eloquently to Ginerva, he said it from his heart, and with deep-seated conviction and unwavering faith. Jubilation started to blossom from within his soul, filling the hollowness in his heart, and warmth was firmly fixed in his bright green eyes. _He gained a trustworthy friend today._

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry could see a flash of bushy brown hair as Hermione was dashing madly out of the door, followed closely by McLaggen. Alarm ringing in his ears, Harry was morbidly positive that he heard people yelping 'Bloody Hell!' all around him, his stomach sinking in such desperation before barely reveling in his brief joy that he felt like it could never rise again. He put some slight pressure on Ginevra's right shoulder out of reflex to steady himself, uttering quickly."Remember what I said. I gotta run...NOW!"

Within seconds, Harry found himself grabbing an extremely shocked McLaggen's collar, his fist hovering over the face of the notably taller 7th year Gryffindor. Harry was completely unaware that he had managed to apparate without splinching himself, with no previous practice or experience, but had he been, he still wouldn't have had time to worry about Hermione's reaction to the fact the he had attempted to break the rules twice in one night, and was currently on the verge of beating up an older student.

"What do you think you have been doing to her, you bloody git?" Harry growled, green fires ablaze in his eyes.

The victim of his wrath raised both arms disarmingly, eyeing Harry's tightened fist warily." Harry, I did absolutely nothing. We were just-"

"I am no Harry to you, and don't you dare finish that"-his voice hoarse with fury-" Do tell! Have you been taking advantage of _her_?" ordered Harry, pressing his fist into Maclaggen's neck when he croaked the last word. The Gryffindor lion in him was prepared to crush the trespasser on his territory.

"I swear, Har-I mean, P-potter, I...Her-no, s-she said she wasn't feeling well, and I just wanted to check on her...a-and she ran so fast that I had to..." McLaggen squeaked, but then swallowed loudly, unable to carry on, his face ashen with fright. The 7th year Gryffindor just had the first taste of the most powerful wizard of the Light.

Harry didn't believe the coward, but most of his indignation subsided. Harry always wanted to be strong in the face of challenge, strong in defense and countering evil forces, but never did he want to garner strength and power to oppress the weak. He slowly released McLaggen, leaving the shaky student gasping for air. Remembering he could do magic for the first time, Harry brandished his wand and spoke clearly." I don't trust you. It's my fault that I was not watching out for her, but I can assure you I will NOT be making the same mistake, ever again," he raised his wand, emphasizing his words," and don't...don't let me see you near her anytime in the future!" Without waiting for McLaggen's response, he put his wand back into his pocket, pushed the door open and promptly darted out into the dark corridor.

tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Yay! Finally! Harry and Hermione have to confront each other. **

**1, This chap is my effort to explain unreasonable behaviors of Hermione in 6****th**** year.**

**Still, no canary here, I refuse to believe that Hermione would sink that low, I mean, getting petty and attacking Ron for no reason…**

**2, Watch out for fireflies. They can be as strong as love potion ^^**

**3, Rowling impressed me with her emphasis on the power of love, yet I think she didn't fulfill its potentials. This could be a very powerful theme. **

**4, "A leopard can't change its spots" long paragraphs again, and lots of Harry's musings too. Still, love is not overnight. I don't think a green monster can just appear in Harry's chest, out of blue, or he would be so freely kiss a girl in front of the entire Gryffindor. **

**Well, romantic love needs a healthy seed sown on good ground to begin with, then a certain amount of watering, taking care and time to grow and blossom…**

**Final installment…**

Harry's first instinct was to get back to the Gryffindor tower, yet Harry highly doubted that Hermione would want to face her meddling dorm mates, who would jump at the chance of any juicy gossip, if she was really distressed at the moment. The library was already closed by that time, so he could not go there, either. He guessed the most logical thing for his best friend to do when she was feeling sick was heading straight to the hospital wing. However, something about her tonight told him that the last thing she cared about was her health, even if she was suffering from physical pain. He could sense a different pain, much deeper, much more profound, much more intense, a pain that no healing potions or spells could remedy. Harry was cursing himself relentlessly, _He should have known that something was amiss from the beginning. He did notice, but he foolishly chose not to act on it. He should have watched her all the time. He should have asked her to dance before the unmannerly coward could, she was his date after all, or at least he should have pinned her to the couch beside him when the git asked her._His emotional turmoil of heartache, regret, panic, and fear, tightened around his chest, making it very hard for him to breathe as Harry sprinted aimlessly up and down all of the Hogwarts corridors. He leaned on the wall, succumbed with exhaustion and despair, his eyes falling on the candle alcove in front of him. He was not sure whether he was hallucinating or the candle had morphed into a pair of magical fireflies, but the light bulb went off in his head that moment. Harry resolutely pushed himself off the wall and continued running to the end of the firefly-lit corridor. Anxiety was still hot under his feet, but he felt more reassured with each purposeful step. His heart was beating so fast that he thought it would bolt out of his ribcage and race down the stairs before he could reach the final landing.

Harry stopped dead in his track in utter relief, still panting heavily, when he saw his best friend sitting on the solitary porch step, curling in a ball, her head laid on her knees, away from his direction, her thick brown hair shrouded her arms and most of her side view. It was not a matter of luck or coincidence that he found her there. Actually, it was the inexplicable certainty in his heart that he would find Hermione there that rendered his vision blurry. From her position, Hermione had yet to see him, yet Harry still felt the need to press himself to the wall for the second time, just breathing mutely.

Gusts of cold winds wafted into the open corridor. Harry wasn't looking at her, but he could tell Hermione was hugging her knees closer to her chest, his mind fleetingly void of thoughts. He briskly closed distance between them, sat down next to her, and briskly took off his coat. Without greeting, he turned to Hermione, who hadn't shown any sign of knowing he was there, one hand gathering her hair up, the other clumsily wrap his coat around her shoulders, and let her hair fall back in thick curls. His hands lingered on her hair for a moment, then slid down her arms beneath the thick material of his coat, squeezing them briefly before letting go completely. He shifted back to his spot, allowing an appropriate space between him and his best friend.

"McLaggen said you were not feeling well?" Said Harry, sounding as nonchalant as he could, but his intonation implied he was rather anxious for her response. Hermione did the last thing Harry expected.

"Did he actually buy that?" she burst out laughing, stopped to calm down, and went on somberly, "I'm as right as rain. I just need some lame excuse to elope."

Harry quietly let out a breath he had been holding deep from within. Her silvery laugh was like April showers to his internal fire, his bitterness faded as if treated with her magical Murtlap salve. He even spared a moment to feel sorry for his 7th year housemate.

"Does that mean I should be worried about you coming up with a wicked way to escape from me someday, huh?" Harry cocked his eyebrows at her, trying to appear formidable, but his lop-sided grin gave him away. Hermione looked at him, her face the picture of a placid Hogwarts lake, except for her brown eyes brimmed with that wretched unreadable sensation again. Discomfort growing in his stomach, Harry was secretly countering some invisible voice taunting at him,_No, no, no, his Hermione will never abandon him, come what may! Certainly, she likes him better than the McLaggen git, he is her best friend, and he will be always there for her, not like some chicken cowering away from a younger student due to mere threat warnings._His train of thought reminded him of something else. Harry broke the silence."You know what, Hermione? You could just say you put a Confundus charm on McLaggen at the quidditch tryout, I bet the git wouldn't have dared bother you."

"Actually, he's not that bad... True, I couldn't stand him before, I heard the brat insulted my best friend and his sister." Hermione looked down and sighed deeply, "It's just spur- of -the -moment, really. I don't know what came over me, but I regretted right afterwards..."She fell silent, chewing on her lips in momentary contemplation before turning to him, asking honestly, "Harry, do you think I should just come clean and apologize to him? Oh Harry! I will not get expelled, will I? Oh dear, I think I severely misunderstood him, Cormac is -"

"I thought you were helping Ron." Harry said gruffly, looking broody.

Hermione knitted her brows, "Ron? What did Ron have to do with..."She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in recognition, "Oh Harry! Is that what you were thinking? Oh my..."Hermione trailed off, then let out an exasperated sigh, "Harry, it is not super critical to me that the Gryffindor quidditch team must make best use of Ron's keeper talent, not to mention quidditch practice has given him even more excuses to dodge prefect duties ever since." Hermione huffed loudly as Harry looked quite surprised, "And honestly, Harry, here I was sitting on edge, worrying that you might get expelled for giving Ron liquid luck!"

Harry had never openly questioned Hermione's sneaky action, but relief poured into his soul for reasons he couldn't name. She always seemed to have a knack for releasing obscure knots in his slow brain, but he was not proud of the fact that his heart was literally singing in comprehension. His best friend looked adorable whenever she was irritated, and he couldn't care any less that he was the reason of her irritation. In fact, he really enjoyed looking at her flushed cheeks, her frizzled hair when she bobbed her head, gestured with her hands to prove her points, inadvertently shrugging off his coat. His spirits consumed her zeal, soaring higher than any other time that night.

"Oh really? You were disappointed that your best friend might have cheated in Quidditch, but you had to go break the rule by yourself, and should I add, put a higher year student in disadvantage during a trivial game, Miss Granger?" quipped Harry, his eyes smiling.

Hermione nodded sweetly, "Uh huh, then we'll get expelled together, sneaking off to a faraway place, like…like Paris, you know, the City of Lights, historic, majestic, and romantic with the Seine River, the Louvre, the Notre Dame Cathedral. I've been there once, and I've always wanted to come back." Her voice kept rising in another spurt of enthusiasm. "Imagine, Harry, NO Voldemort and his rotten army hunting after you, NO Ministry officials harassing you, there're only…oh well…you got the idea." She finished with a small shrug.

Harry kept gaping at his friend, shock written all over his face.

"Crookshanks got your tongue?" Hermione turned her head away from him, and put her hands on her mouth to hide her snigger, her shoulders shaking with laughter, "Honestly, Harry, you can't even tell I was kidding!" She cleared her throat, adding seriously. "You do have to finish your Newt to have Auror education, anyway."

All of his faculties taut with astonishment and anticipation deflated all of a sudden. He shook his head slightly as if to shake off any remnant visions of his fanciful imagination. Harry was amazed that his best friend seemed to be wired for jocularity tonight, which infected him with gaiety. Harry suddenly remembered how she was pestering him about a mere stupid potions textbook, so he decided to be equally playful. He mimicked her signature voice. "Honestly," Deliberately ignoring that Hermione wrinkled her nose in mock distaste, he went on in a grave tone, "it still sounds absolutely incredulous to me. You can't tell me that's what miss Prim-And-Proper Prefect would do? And you know what? The fact is your best friend is a decent student who has yet to break any rule this school year, unless you call picking up a potion textbook with helpful side notes purely by chance a misdemeanor as seriously as cheating."

"Oh Harry!" Hermione put her head in her hands, "I was scared…"

Harry was having fun in teasing his best friend. "Pardon me! What were you saying?"

"Oh Harry! I said 'I was scared'. It could easily have been another Riddle's diary, Harry."

His evil grin dropped immediately. His best friend still nuzzled her head in her hands, her voice muffled, yet Harry could hear every single word, the name "Riddle" ringing loud in his ears. _Of course, Hermione is always concerned about his safety. She can never take it easy, unless Riddle vanishes from the world forever._

Hermione still hadn't looked up yet, and Harry started to wonder how she could breathe. He was afraid that he might have gone too far this time. There wasn't any sound of crying, but thick silence didn't make him feel any better. Hermione's tears would taste salty in his throat, cutting through his heart, and the thought of her crying filled him with alarm. Unable to wait any longer, Harry tentatively touched her shoulder lightly, hoping to relieve any physical tension afflicting her delicate body. He pleaded with his best friend. "Hermione…C'mon! Hermione…please look at me!" his voice broke, "Please…Hermione! I am sorry!"

There was neither reply nor reaction from his best friend and his stomach sunk low to a deep abyss. He was so scared that he had screwed up, and the idea of him being the reason of her tears struck his mind like heavy bricks, obstructing all tunnels of plans and capabilities to think clearly. One hand grazing her shoulder, his free hand scraped vigorously at his scalp, trying to search his sluggish brain for a way to comfort his best friend. Most of the time, Harry survived thanks to his intuition, so he chose to act entirely on impulse. Without missing a beat, he swept her thick brown hair aside, and blew hard in her ears.

Hermione jerked her head up, accidentally bumping his nose. That part didn't include in his original plan, but Harry was more than gratified that he could finally look into her eyes, completely dry with a flash of panic, her lips bearing red marks from being bitten too hard, stray hair falling haphazardly around her face. Getting excited about paying her back, he rubbed his nose and groaned in fake pain.

"Oh my God! Harry! Did I hurt you? Harry? You 're okay?" Hermione sounded very worried.

Concern in her voice felt so sweet that the temptation to revel in her attention overrode any modicum of his honesty. He touched his nose gingerly, in the pretense of complaining with a brief glance at her to see her reaction. "Ouch, Hermione, I think you broke my nose."

"Oh no! What have I done?" she moaned, presumably stopping for silent self-reproach, but then turned to Harry, "Can't be that bad, Harry! Let me check on your nose!"

Harry flinched, realizing she would find out, "Er…no, it's alr—"

"Nonsense! I read some healing spells, I can fix your nose in no time!" insisted Hermione, her voice firm.

Before Harry could say anything to save his dignity, his best friend was already hovering over him, proceeded to examine his face closely. She was so close that he could feel her warmth, a faint scent of parchment and sweet lily fragrance wafting into his senses. Hermione was searching his face, her fingers trailing his scar, brushing his cheeks softly. If he was in awe of the gentle and loving way Hermione treasured books before, he was left numb with sheer pleasure by the sublime tenderness of Hermione's touch at that moment. Harry really wanted to remember why she was fondling his face, but he had trouble focusing on anything other than her hypnotic featherlight touches. He found himself drowned in her deep dark eyes, which fixed on his nose, or dared he hope, his mouth. Harry could feel she inched closer, her hands running through his hair. His cheeks felt hot, his heart thumped wildly in his chest with the idea that something he had been yearning for so long was about to happen. He fluttered his eyes closed, and dipped his head, her lips printed on his retina. However, life was more inclined to blowing up in his face than Harry expected. Instead of the wonderful sensation he waited to explode on his hungry lips, he felt a sharp pinch on his nose, forcing an involuntary yelp of pain out of his throat. Hermione stood up, brushing dusts off her knees, giving him an impish smile.

"Serves you right, Mr Potter! You dared trick me! I just showed you what miss prim-and-proper prefect could do, even to the high-and-mighty Chosen one." said Hermione, a note of triumph in her voice.

His best friend looked directly at him, a sweet smile stretched on her face, mischief dancing in her brown orbs. Harry was too amused to feel vexed at all. Her bright aura of slyness and buoyancy was worth some trivial pain anyway. He was not certain why, but he was full of inspirations for humor tonight. He had gotten far beyond the point of stopping to think before doing. If she wanted to play, then he would.

Harry flung himself at his best friend, impetuously ruffling her hair for the sake of feeling her thick, soft brown curls in his hands. He then started to tickle her in the ribs, said in a mock glare. "Oh yeah? High-and-mighty, huh? Let's see if you can escape this time, you little minx!"

Hermione gave shrieks of surprise, trying to run away, but Harry was faster. He pressed her to the cold ground, smirking down at her, wordlessly declaring final victory. His best friend stuck her tongue at him, refusing to give in. She laughed between sputtering, "Harry! Oh Harry!" while wriggling under his strong hold, struggling to get up. The way she said his name was filled with such endearment that her voice felt like wings for his name to fly. Her tinkling laugh, harmonizing with mirthful laughter of his own, filled the quiet corridor with liveliness and warmth. Together, their laughter was cuddled in the embrace of the murmurs of chilling breezes outside, soothing the aggressive whomping willows, whose whistles reverberated the secret tunnel to the Shrieking shack. Mother Nature saved one more ordeal for the couple before being able to give them the best of blessings.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter was unaware of his predestined gift, he fastened his eyes on the laughing girl trapped under him, feeling a swell of affection in his heart. Everything about Hermione, her pink face framed with bushy hair, her sparkling brown eyes, her magical aura vitalized with cheerful laughter, aroused an intense longing inside Harry, and he felt a pressing urge to touch her, more gently, more lovingly than she did, if possible. Like Harry, Hermione was no longer laughing, but looking intently at him, seemingly not noticing he had released her arms. The corridor soon fell into a calming silence, except for some intangible whispers sounding like Hermione's soft voices in his ears. Harry stroked her hair fondly, then started to cradle her face in his hands, yet before he could go any further, a thunderclap roared in the sky above, prompting him to instinctively swoop down and shield her with his body. He could hear his best friend gasp loudly, her breath hot into his chest, her scents making him heady, but Harry, still on alert, held his breath to listen to any pending danger, while gripping Hermione's hand tightly, trying to reassure her that everything would be alright, that he would be here to protect her.

Thunderclaps were followed by a torrential downpour, putting a curtain of silver rain at the porch opening up to the Clock Tower courtyard. Harry and Hermione lied on the dusty ground, intertwined, he holding her, she clutching at him, for a full three minutes, feeling each other's body warmth and waiting for the threat that never came. Though Harry already knew there was nothing more to the thunderclaps than a mild thunderstorm, he was very reluctant to pull away, scared of the awkwardness ensuing this inappropriate closeness between "best friends".

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" said a voice familiar from the staircases.

Harry inwardly groaned, his stomach sinking lower than the ground beneath them. He would recognize the voice everywhere, yet he was rather disturbed since the voice had taken a furious tone. Stress, however unpleasant and repugnant, could bring out golden qualities in people, and that how tension and trepidation worked with the chosen one and the brightest witch of the age. Together, they made an excellent team, complementing each other perfectly like different beats in a rhythm, like various melodies in a harmony. Thus, they appeared a tangle of messy hair and rumpled clothes on the ground, yet no one could catch their shared look of startling recognition, their last hand squeeze, and their single nod in unison before they both jumped up in attacking stance, Harry standing protectively in front of Hermione, who surreptitiously pulled his wand out of his pocket and quietly handed it to him, just in case. The intruder had hardly taken a full step down the stairs when the pair was standing poised in the dull light, without any trace evidence of previous uncompromising acts.

Harry looked up to see his other best friend make painfully slow step towards them, a deathly glower beneath his bangs, his face turning beet-red, which looked like blotchy mud in the dark. Harry made a mental note to practice silent breathing if he didn't want to betray nervousness when facing his enemies in the future. Not until his hand could reach behind and touch Hermione's fingertips did he exhale slowly, a tad too noisily for his liking.

"It's not like what you think, mate" said Harry half-heartedly.

Harry was not certain what Ronald Weasley should be thinking, he basically said what came first to mind to buy some time, before, he hoped, his brilliant Hermione showed some tricks up her sleeves. He felt a necessity to explain to the redhead what had driven them to the somewhat unfitting position when he found them. He did a mental double-check on the past events of that night to see if they had crossed any line, and a lump was caught in his throat when he realized that them being together, Harry and Hermione, felt so right that there had never been a line to begin with. The ethereal string connecting them only grew solid with time. There were only nonexistent obstacles in the mind, yet hearts had beats of their own, always waiting to join their missing beats to form their rhythm and sing their unique melody, which would eventually destroy all the barriers imposed on the mind.

Harry had inadvertently done what he advised Ginevra, setting his heart free to find its home, and he did in Hermione's heart. Tonight, the most surreal thing happened in his life. Tonight, the fireflies had guided him to her; the wind had picked up, feeding the smoldering embers, lighting up the fire of burning desire within him; the cool fresh rain had eased the scorching bitterness in his heart, yet the most beautiful thing about tonight was Hermione, the girl who held the keys of the rhythm in his heart. His entire being was held spellbound within the melody of the most powerful word, which he dared not name yet, but could fathom to its core and cherish with all his heart, mind and soul.

"I don't think! I saw it with my own eyes. I can't believe you two have been going behind my back," spat Ron, his hands curling in tight fists.

To Ronald Weasley's indignation, Harry didn't seem to listen, but turned back to the girl behind him. He swallowed loudly before allowing him to look deeply into her brown orbs, and drink in every features of her face. The wretched unreadable emotions were there, but he thought he could grasp it this time, and he was totally captivated with that swirling mysterious depth. Her full lips seemed to hold a magnetic power to his dry ones. Harry automatically shut his eyes and leaned in with every intention to claim her lips with his. Nevertheless, Hermione suddenly grabbed both of his hands, her soft eyes sending him a message to wait until they settled things with Ron. Despite a twinge of disappointment in his heart, he nodded his agreement and let go, but not before kissing their joined hands quickly. Hermione sent him a consoling look before stepping forwards and facing a furious-looking Ron.

"What we do is none of your business, Ronald. We are under no obligation to explain to you every single activity we participate in, every single party we attend, every joke we share, or every conversation we exchange!" Hermione was standing akimbo, a gleam of impudence in her eyes, her face getting as red as Ron's. She thrust a finger at him, her voice breaking with pure anger "Don't you dare accuse us of keeping secrets from you, and don't…don't you dare belittle the purity of our friendship!"

Hermione was panting heavily after her tirade. Ron looked aghast, his face tinted with a fresh layer of crimson, no longer from blind jealousy, but from mortification. The end of Hermione's verbal assault looked down to the ground, raised his hand as if to reach for the brown-haired witch in front of him, and said weakly. "Mione, dear! I just…I really want to tell that I—"

"Won-Won! Won-Won? Where are you, honey?" called a female voice, also from the same direction which Ron arrived.

His mouth still hung open in mid-speech, Ronald Weasley was caught off guard yet again, his brows unknitting, directing his question to Hermione, who simply shrugged in similar state of cluelessness, but expected the answer to come up soon. Right on cue, hurried footsteps were heard before a voluptuous girl in two big plaits, lavender headband and hoop earrings of the same color being her only accessories, raced towards the redhead, turning his shoulders roughly to her and hugging him tight. She rubbed his chest, her eyes sweeping from there upward and downward as if to check whether he was still whole. The girl brushed his cheeks lightly before smooching him full on the lips, leaving a dazed expression on Ron's face. She chirped. "Won-Won, I've been looking all over the place for you! See? I got this new dress that I want to wear just for you. I know you'll love it, a perfect blend of flaming red and copper, just like the shade of your smashing hair." She then grazed his hair, a look of adoration and pride in her round eyes.

"Lav-Lav, honey! I don't th—" Ron found his voice for the first time only to be cut off.

"Harry! Hermione! How long have you been standing there?" The girl looked genuinely surprised to see they had been having audience.

"Hi, Lavender!" Hermione said airily, biting her lower lip to suppress laughing at the two lovebirds. "You should ask your Won-Won over there. Harry and I've just returned from the Slug club party, and we've been hanging around here to…well, you know,… chat for a little while until he came."

Lavender mouthed an "Oh" before facing her boyfriend, "Merlin's Mercy! Won-Won, so our Gin-Gin might have already waited for us in the common room. We gotta come back, quick!" Catching the confusion on Ron's face, she gushed, "Our baby sister, honey! She and Dean just broke up this afternoon. The guy was in a right state, I daresay. Oh, our poor little Gin-Gin must be very upset now." She laid her head on Ron's shoulder, tugging at his arm, sounding rather concerned, "Won-Won! Let's go! We need to be there for her." Still, Ronald Weasley didn't move an inch. He looked slightly unnerved towards Hermione's direction, silently asking the bright young witch for some way out. Taking a hint from her boyfriend's behavior, Lavender asked her dorm mate, "Hermione! Harry! Are you guys coming back too? It's sorta late now."

Hermione took a glance at Harry, who was curiously silent even with this interesting turn of events, and received nothing but a blank stare. Dismay surged in her eyes, but she kept her expression neutral, turning back to the couple, giving another nonchalant shrug. "I guess…you two just go ahead." She added almost as an afterthought, "…and good luck with Ginny!"

"Sure, thank you, Hermione!" Lavender said brightly, "You should be there for her too. Our Gin-Gin considers you her best friend." She snuggled closer to her boyfriend, her hand holding his waist, speaking smoothly, "but you guys just take your time. Won-Won and I can take care of this. We are living now, bye you two!" She started to pull the redhead up the stairs more persistently, getting impatient with his hesitation. Lavender put her arms around his neck, stared up at him and said in a markedly sultry voice. "Be a good boy, honey! I have a prize for you tucked underneath my pillows." That did the trick at last. The redhead nodded decisively.

"See you, mate! Mione! We'll definitely talk later!" Ron looked pointedly at his best friends, warning of future encounters, and then disappeared into the dark stairs, without getting so much as a small wave from Hermione. Soon, only heavy footsteps and random calls sounding like 'Lav-Lav, honey! Wait for me!' echoed through the cracked walls of Hogwarts.

Hermione let out a short laugh that she had been holding since the interruption of two lovebirds. With a slight shake of her head, she settled back to her place on the step, looking out into the courtyard, "Woa, Harry! It's still raining." She put on Harry's coat, which was lying forgotten in the dusty ground, feeling warm and cozy. "Harry? Why are you standing there? Come here! Aren't you cold? Wizard coats are huge, let's share, shall we?"

The raven-haired wizard moved mechanically to his best friend, lingering behind her, one hand hovering above her shoulder, yet withdrawing after few seconds of consideration. He sat heavily on the step, within a noticeably larger distance than previously.

"I'm fine! Keep it," said Harry gruffly.

Hermione winced slightly, sensing something wrong. She took a glimpse of Harry, who appeared to be staring at the large weeping lady stained glass, his emerald eyes void of emotion. Yet, upon closer scrutiny, she could tell he was looking beyond the colorful glass material, his vision seeking the night sky outside, penetrating the thick black dome to unravel the answers to burning questions underneath his cold green veils.

The raindrops pattering on the stone ceiling was playing a serene lullaby, wrapping them both in a comforting aura of security and tranquility. She could feel his rhythmical breathing, accompanied with her own. Peaceful quietness between them, Harry and Hermione, only they could hear. Hermione hugged Harry's coat closer to her body, breathing in his scents, relishing the feel of being near him. Silence could only be stretched for so long, though. She briefly reminisced the enjoyable nights filled with laughter and joy, and something almost palpable in the air, something that stirred a sensation both delightfully nervous and comfortably warm within her. She enjoyed the restful silence, yet she also missed his voice, and his laughs. She decided to exploit her limited reservoir of humor and have some good fun with him before they came back to the common room.

"Won-Won, Lav-Lav, Gin-Gin, did you notice, Harry? Sounds like a nice start for a big happy family. What do you think they would call their future generation?" snickered Hermione.

Harry only grunted his agreement. In fact, he was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't follow any conversation going on among his friends. No sooner had he felt quite proud of Hermione's resolution in their defense to Ron than her enunciation of the single word "friendship" felt like thunders blasting in his ears, piercing his eardrums, shattering his heart into million pieces. Those shards were buried in his flesh, afflicting excruciating agony all over his body. His heart was bleeding profusely, yet it was forced to keep beating, With each heartbeat, Harry felt like someone was punching his chest hard, knocking breath out of his lungs. His idiocy betrayed him to the point of losing every ounce of faith and hope. He had thought he had felt an unmistakable current between them, irresistible gravitation between them, and there was no space between them, but for their warm breath, and the melody of their harmonized heartbeats, yet now he could see an immense ocean that would drown him if he tried to swim to her side.

Tonight, he had been over the moon only to be tossed back to his dark pit of heartaches, this time manifoldly worse. The way she said "friendship" with all honesty and conviction sliced into his opened wounds, leaving him paralyzed with utter despair and dejection. In Harry's mind eyes, he was fumbling blindly for Hermione, yet she turned away, reaching out for a certain redhead, so he would keep backing in unmitigated consternation until he slipped his foot and fell off a bottomless cliff, dying in total heartbreak. His soul was wailing in protest with the vision of her touching the redhead lovingly and bestowing on him her passionate kisses that Harry could only imagine in his deepest, darkest dreams. Harry had thought tonight was the night he finally saw the quintessence of the most magical power in the world, and the first official acknowledgement of something he had been denying against his wish proved to be stronger than a "Stupefy" spell, and sweeter and more therapeutic than Honeydukes chocolate. Nevertheless, before he could truly savor it, happiness was mercilessly sucked out of his soul as if he had been kissed by Dementors.

Harry was so consumed with yearnings for the girl who kept his heart that he felt almost impossible to go back to normal, playing a perfect "best friend" of hers without coveting more. Although he was so tempted to close off the outside world and curl up in the cocoon of his own self-pity, Harry was still extremely sensitive to her presence, her voice, and her aura of peace and comfort. Out in the courtyard was the obsidian night enfolded in a drape of cool fresh rain, and Harry faintly heard Hermione humming a soothing lullaby. Though divested of motherly cares and bedtime lullabies, Harry could tell the song was a lullaby, and a familiar one no less, since he could hum along in his mind and describe it in the heavenly tenderness of only Hermione's voices. Harry tried to relive memorable moments of their friendship over the past six years, allowing him to envision Hermione singing that lullaby to him when he was asleep or bedridden in the hospital wing, when a sad smile perched in his eyes, forming ripples of tender longing and fondness on the otherwise still green surface. He felt rather than saw Hermione was shivering in the cold. His heart quivered with a renewed longing to stay close to her and take care of her, even only as a friend. Harry was trying to retrieve the strength he used to possess to maintain his feelings within platonic confines.

"You are thinking of G-ginny." Hermione said bluntly.

She was looking straight at Harry, but quickly turned away when he returned the look, trying to catch her eyes. Her dead quiet voice was drowned in the heavy rain outside, yet it fell softly against his ears, the cold green ice in his eyes breaking, his brain sober, his heart going out to the fragile girl next to him.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" said Harry, his voice as gentle as the rustling of winter leaves.

"Ginny, she just broke up with Dean, you heard, Harry. I…I really don't think she would be upset like Lavender said. I guess she might be overjoyed, honestly. She stands a chance now, Harry, I see it…" Hermione wasn't looking at him, she appeared to doodle something on the ground with her forefinger. Harry was quite confused, yet before he could tell her to clarify, she continued, her voice quavering, "…don't you know, Harry…a chance to win your…heart."

Bewilderment was etched onto Harry's face. Ginevra's breakup was certainly news to him, but it was really nothing of a shock or anything, considering the redhead was popular with boys and has been dating around. Harry couldn't understand what the relationship btw Ginevra and Dean had to do with him, and how his best friend talked about his heart so carelessly. He was silently voicing his questions to all of his magical ancestors, _Who in the blazes put such a silly thought in Hermione's head, and what come of winning his heart? No chance in hell!_ Harry projected his thoughts directly into words, "You see not a bloody thing, Hermione!"

Hermione shook her head, but she seemed to be absorbed in her own musings, "I saw you enjoying a good time with Ginny at the party, Harry. You know what, the thing with Dean and Ginny is just a façade, a mere preparatory step in a bigger plan…" She hesitated briefly before droning on. "I…I kinda lied to you, Harry. I said Ginny was over you in 5th year. The truth is she's always fancied you…and honestly, Harry, you have no idea how miserable Ginny was, pining after you. She even asked me for advice. Can you imagine that, Harry? The stunning Ginevra Weasley came to a plain bookworm like me for help with boy problems… I mean, I've never had a decent boyfriend before, but well, for you, I will, Harry, if possible, I tried to support her. Honestly, I didn't really consult any books on dating advice, I simply told her to act like herself, to get to know the real you, just Harry , not some hero who lived, or wizarding world savior, or the damn chosen one, yeah, just Harry. Honestly, things have gone more smoothly than I expected. Now that Dean is out, nothing prevents you anymore, Harry…and if I really think about it, definitely, yes, I am actually genuinely honestly happy for you and...Ginny…" Hermione was babbling, and she seemed to stop just to breathe preparing for another nonstop speech, "…and Har—"

"Happy?" Harry gave a squeak of outrage

Unable to look at her, he leapt up on his feet and started to pace up and down the open corridor, muttering all cussing words he knew, but his anger was still more blazing than ever. Chilling rain seeped into the air, giving goose bumps on his arms, yet his inside was a seething hot tumult. He felt like kicking the walls, breaking the stained glass, beating up someone. Otherwise, he would explode with all these suppressed feelings, which have been simmering in his cauldron since he had his first potion lesson, but now were forced to vanish with a flick of Snape's wand. Pains were pressing him from all directions, trapping him in the vicious circle of pretense and craving, of resentment and hurt, of fury and despair.

As famous a hero as he was, Harry had his own insecurities and doubts. With the magical bonding between him and Hermione shining through his gloomy life, he had thought her friendship was more precious than any romantic attachment, yet when smothered desire flared up tonight, he let his heart listen to its own beats and felt the essence of their bonding. Harry was determined to hold on to it without reservation. Then dejection crashed down on him, heartache was camouflaged in uncontrolled rage, which Harry found, out of habit, much easier to handle, by heedlessly channeling it to a different compartment. The Gryffindor lion in Harry was roaring in protest, breaking his cage, and clamoring for freedom. He made the decision to get everything off his chest tonight, whatever the outcome. He stopped pacing immediately, rushed towards Hermione, who looked a little frightened, and raised his arm in surrender.

"You don't know how I feel!" Harry growled. His best friend cringed, concern and fear swimming in her eyes, but he ignored it, carrying on in blind tantrum and wounded pride, stressing every single word, daring her to deny "I repeat, Hermione, you know not a bloody thing how I feel!" His saying it to her only made it feel more real, Harry wasn't so much asking her as wondering by himself out loud, his voice dripped with bitterness. "Who gave you the right to play matchmaker for me, Hermione? Am I that desperate to you, Hermione, that you see the need to pair me up with a random witch from the pool of Hogwarts students?"

Hermione looked near tears. She also stood up, wringing her hands together in desperation. She then bravely looked at him, remorse and hurt evident in her eyes, something like a spark of hope churning beneath her brown irises. Her voice trembled. "I…I just…want you to be…happy, H-harry."

With a single look into her eyes, Harry felt his anger wane as if someone had just poured cold water from the top of his head, _Of course, Hermione always acted in his best interests, but had no idea that she inadvertently broke his heart this time. _He could read hurt in her eyes, and he felt his were also burning with tears. She looked so vulnerable that he longed to just forget everything and hold her in his arms like "her best friend Harry" had done many times. Still, he knew he'd better keep his distance since he wasn't sure what he was capable of doing when he reached her any closer, given that only looking at her eyes stirred desires within him. The selfish part of him was writhing in intense yearning, urging him to just pour out his heart, while his selfless part was quite reluctant to cause her any more distress and confusion. Like most of the time, he found himself leaning on his selfish voice. Harry couldn't help but feel very wishful, thinking he might regret, someday, not telling her truthfully what he felt.

"And you think I could be happy with Ginny, Hermione?" He didn't know how he could keep his emotion in check, but he did, at least to his capacity. He was opening his heart to her, and that made it feel lighter in his chest. "a Ginny, our best friend's sister; a Ginny, who has supposedly held a huge crush on me since 2nd year, giving me an embarrassing Valentine card; a Ginny, who was a good ally in the Department of Ministry Battle in 5th year; a Ginevra Weasley, who is pretty popular among boys this year. Is that it, Hermione, within more than 5 years since I first met her? I cannot know less about Ginny, and she can never see beyond my bloody titles, you said so yourself…" Harry heaved a heavy sigh of despondency before speaking again, his voice now hoarse with emotion, "…and here I am thinking you know me best, Hermione. I always believe that you are the only one who knows the real me, the real Harry…" He fell silent, his throat feeling parched with unsaid feelings,"…but perhaps I am wrong… What am I in your eyes, Hermione? Do you honestly think that love could come easily to me?" He gave a humorless chuckle, "do you honestly assume that I prefer athletic, popular girls to plain ones, Hermione?"

Hermione put her hands to her mouth, muffling some interjection he couldn't make out. Color drained from her face, she looked downright faint with shock, "Oh no, Harry, I—"

"No, Hermione, let me finish first!" Harry was unaware that he had been staring at her the whole time, but he felt a sharp jolt of electricity running through him upon seeing rays of hope shot from her eyes to his. He knew if he let go now, he might never have the chance again, so he unwittingly raised his hand to stop her before she could say anything to daunt his determination. However, he was painfully reminded that an unplanned confession was considerably less likely to end well. He had no idea how butterflies could find their way to his stomach amidst late night rain. He found himself stammering, while on the inside cursing his stupidity again. "Er… the thing is …I…uhm…Herm…well, you see…uhm…oh Bugger!" Hermione was focusing on him, and he felt quite exasperated, suddenly finding his self-pity party a little bit easier than facing a girl who had his heart at her mercy. He flicked his eyes to the ground, for the first time wishing he had read the "Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches" that Ron lent him. Right that moment, his eyes caught something on the ground, something like the inverted image of his name encircled in a heart-shaped line, _Hermione's doodle_! Startling realization made his heart skip a beat. He looked up at her, and he could sense she was wordlessly giving him the answer, _listen to his heart_. His emerald eyes brighter than ever, transfixed upon her pale face, Harry spoke in a deep yet clear tone. "Hermione, if you must know, I did actually manage to have a bearable time reasoning with Ginny. I know she fancies me, but I candidly let her know that I cannot return her feelings, but I didn't tell her why. Do you have any idea why, Hermione?"

She simply looked at him, encouraging him to go on. Tension increased in the chilly air, but Harry felt rather confident, his heart resounding with certainty. "I think you do, Hermione. You can always read my mind after all…" He looked at her truthfully with all longing and affection in his eyes, his voice slightly cracking, "… Because I have willingly, totally, irrevocably given my heart to someone else, and no one, no one, least of all, _you_, Hermione, _you_, can force me to take it back."

Harry felt a great sense of contentment in his peaceful heart, which finally could openly pledge itself to its owner. He gave Hermione a genuine smile of sincerity, devotion, and perfect serenity. Harry saw tears roll down her cheeks, and a shy, nervous smile painted on her rosy face. The unreadable emotion finally unveiled, her calm lake breaking in swirling sentiments, all of which engulfed his heart in a warm fire and filled his soul with the familiar lullaby in Hermione's sweet voice.

Harry knew that he had said enough, he turned to the weeping lady stained glass, waiting for her answer, though he already had a hunch, for her magical aura surrounded him with passion and gratification. His gaze falling upon the stained glass in front of him, Harry took some time to admire the divine piece of art. Those skulls under the old lady's cape were convulsing in grief and contrition, apparently praying for salvation, while a halo was glowing around her silver hair, a solitary twinkling golden star on the top of the glass. He supposed the lady cried for worldly evils, and her tears would redeem their sins. It dawned on him in another epiphany that it wasn't fury, physical strength, hatred or vengeance that would destroy evils, but monstrosity should be absolved with the power of love, _the power the Dark Lord knows not_. The old lady's halo was similar to Hermione's aura of goodness and beauty, in which he had bathed since he first met her. All of a sudden, Harry saw her reflection in the celestial stained glass. _Starkly and warmly shinning is his beautiful Hermione, his guardian angel! _Simultaneously with his sacred awakening, a pair of slender arms snaked around his waist.

"I love you, Harry! I, too, willingly, totally, and irrevocably love you, Harry. Oh Harry!"

Laying one cheek on his back, Hermione hugged him tight from behind, and she sang the most divine lullaby to his ears. Harry covered her arms with his, cherishing the warmth of her behind him. He thought about this before, and now he could eventually feel it with all his heart, physical intimacy between them felt like the most natural thing in the world, just like the sun rose in the East and set in the West. Harry had envisioned this moment, surmising he would feel extremely thrilled or stunned in incredulous ecstasy, and once it came with the unique tenderness and love of his Hermione, he did feel all of those feelings he had anticipated. What he didn't think of was a heavenly sense of familiarity and peace enveloping him and his girl. Thus, he felt as if Hermione had professed her love to him the same way since forever. If his name could fly with her voice before, her ejaculation of his name now brought him to a paradise free of worry and pain, surrounded with holy winged angels, his heart filled with purity and magnanimity and altruism and love, perfect epitome of love, since hostility, bitterness, grudge, and hurt were all lifted from his soul, and salvaged by the divinity of this heaven, Harry and Hermione's heaven!

He noticed the weeping lady no longer cried, her last tears already shed, leaving a contented, tranquil look on her face instead of the previous doleful expressions. He felt naked under her stare. Her amber eyes winked at him, sending him blessings from heaven. The bell in his heart chimed, _It is time_. After smiling radiantly at the weeping lady, Harry slowly turned back to the love of his life. He was enthralled to see her thick curls were glowing with myriad fireflies again, a bright smile blossoming on her roseate lips. She was the picture of beauty in his eyes. Harry gently grazed her soft cheeks, pouring admiration and love into her brown orbs with his gaze. He smoothly clasped her hand on his waist and slowly guiding it to his left chest, where lay his revived heart, whispering to her in a statement rather than a question, "You know."

"I do." Hermione whispered back, her eyes glistening with happy tears, "I do, Harry. That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me!"

Harry could tell his heart was rejoicing at her touch. Enchanted by her luminous hair, he tenderly tucked a stray tress behind her ear, his fingers tracing along the curve of her chin. He said in a husky voice that he couldn't recognize was his own, "That means you will not return it, ever, Miss Granger?"

"Never can you have it back, Mr Potter! It's mine now!" Hermione murmured, her soft voice embracing his senses snugly, engendering a wondrous floating sensation. She put her arms around his neck, while he laced his hands on the small of her back, pressing her closer to him. Hermione looked up at him, swinging her hair playfully, fireflies braiding a sparkling crown on her brown curls, dazzling beams of exuberance and pleasure on her face, and he was unequivocally bewitched by everything about her radiant face and her ravishing hair, yet what struck him hardest, holding him in absolute rapture, and filling his heart with a magical aura of euphoria were blazes of faithfulness and truthfulness in her beautiful eyes. Still in a trance, he shook her hair lightly, and watched flecks of golden light resting on her breast in morbid fascination. Unadulterated desires clawed mercilessly in his demanding chest, his hand itching to touch her luscious skin, his mouth watering for saccharine tastes of her inviting lips, heat pooling from his aching lust onto his entire being, melting the chills in the air, rousing him from his torpid state. Harry dazedly removed one hand from her waist, instantly missing its warm softness, to touch her lower lips. Her breath tickled his fingers, and he was lulled further to caress the smooth, succulent, moist curve, his mind challenging anything to stop him from kissing her, _there was nothing, nothing, nothing that can take her away from him, redheads, Riddle, or even punishment from heaven. _He gently cupper her face in his hands, staring into her eyes to find the love there, and slowly brought his lips down towards hers. He saw Hermione flutter her long eyelashes closed before he shut his eyes. Their lips touched and Harry Potter knew something warmer than fire, sweeter than chocolates and more divine than heaven, the most incredible, ethereal and exquisite sensation bursting from his lips on hers.

"Hermione, my love!" Harry rasped, his heart exploding with pure bliss at the sound of her name in his voice, thick with passion and desires. He could feel her smile on his lips, teasing them with pleasant tingles. It felt like their lips were charged with strong magnetism, and he could do nothing but kiss her again, more gently, lingeringly and thoroughly, relishing a plethora of flavors of Hermione's lips. She tasted indescribably splendid, richer, lusher than treacle tart, mingled with the heady scent of pinewood and delicious, soothing, sweet lily. He kept pressing his lips tenderly to hers and simply savoring their kisses. Their breath merged, and their heartbeats married in the rhythmic pulsation of love. The kisses ended as tenderly as they began. Their eyes were locked together in what seemed like an eternity, utterly loving smiles on their faces only for each other.

Magical fireflies enclosed the two lovers in a globe of golden amorous radiance, specks of gold highlighting Harry's black hair, fireflies hovering around his round-rimmed glasses. He blinked while Hermione gave a lilting laugh, her flushed cheeks illuminated with fireflies' light, and brilliance, wisdom and fortitude radiating from her golden halo,_ Hermione Granger, the girl he loves, the one who has always been staying by his side in his battle for the Light, the one who is guiding him in his impending ventures with her ingenuity, the one who is giving him the greatest power to conquer and pardon evils with her devotion and love. Hermione Granger, the reason for him to fight, not with hatred and vindication, but with his power to love, and survive the final battle to give her all the happiness she deserves. _Never had Harry felt more confident of his strength, not only physical resilience but also his willpower and the vehemence in his heart, than when he looked at the vision before his eyes, his Hermione. There was absolute certitude written in her enchanting eyes, and dictated by destiny that victory belonged to the Light, and he would live to wake up in Hermione's arms every morning, to build a happy, peaceful home with her, to watch their kids grow up and find happiness of their own. Harry knew then their love was forever.

"Hermione, my angel!"Harry barely let out his guttural voice before crashing his lips down on hers again, this time with an explosion of burning desires. Hermione was tiptoeing, her hands buried in his messy hair, and her lips kissing hungrily on his in desperate passion. The couple melded in one entity, flesh to flesh, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, their souls connected, their heart bonded. Harry whipped her around, pressing her body to the weeping lady stained glass, not waiting a second to devour her lips. He didn't stop to think the glass surface could be very cold, yet it wasn't much of significance, since he could tell she was feeling extremely warm. Her body heat was transferred to him, and he couldn't taste anything other than the raving erotic passion. He felt as if they had been waiting to kiss each other senseless for too long, and now all those strangled desires, once released, burst forth with fierce demands to be gratified. Bitterness, hurt, and dejection added fuel to the flame of feral desires to make up for all past heartaches. Harry felt he could never get enough of her, and the more he had her, the more he wanted her. He trailed kisses around her earlobes, down the sensuous curve of her neck, ejecting gasps of his name from her mouth. He impatiently tugged her maroon ribbon away, hastily unbuttoned her collar, revealing her creamy skin and the tip of a faintly red scar from the purple hex, just above her cleavage, and brushed his lips urgently against her chest, blinded with another outburst of possessiveness and steamy desires. Harry was indulging himself in the temptation to consummate this savage passion until her heartbeats resonated in his ear, vigorous, loud and wild, pounding in her chest. Hermione's heartbeats were the most amazing rhythms Harry's ever heard, and he reveled in the feel of her vitals, of the missing half of his heart. He looked in her brown eyes glazed with passion, sending her a smile of utmost marvel, his emerald lake similarly glassy. He gently placed his lips on her forehead, utter fulfillment permeating their interwoven magical aura.

"I love you, Hermione, my everything!" Harry's venerable avowal of his love for Hermione rolled off his tongues as if he had been saying this numerous times, his voice holding such tenderness that the most solid guarding walls of Hogwarts had to vibrate, and the dozing portraits sighed happily in their dreams. Hermione gazed at him affectionately, her eyes shining with tears, her lips swollen red from his assault, while tears were also unknowingly leaking from his green irises. She grazed the top of his head lightly, and tiptoed to kiss his scar fully, her warm lips lingering on the red blemish, nullifying the malice festering beneath that rough skin.

"Oh Harry, my Harry!" ejaculated Hermione.

"I'm yours, my Hermione! All of me is yours," professed a voice from Harry's heart, filled with total felicity and pure love. He wrapped his arms around her waist, she nuzzled her head in the crook of his shoulders, and they hugged each other tight like the two best friends had always done before, except for this time, nothing hampered their true desires and ardent passion. Accordingly, Harry and Hermione were clinging to each other, the way two halves fitted to make an immaculate whole, the way they were always meant to be.

Harry gripped her firmly, squeezed her gently and breathed in her heavenly scents. Both melted in an inseparable embrace.

Outside in the courtyard, the last raindrops had trickled from open gashes engraved on the indigo carpet, cleansing the earth of ungodly filth, leaving a crisp, fresh and clean atmosphere settling on Hogwarts ground. Fluffy grey billows of clouds idly stretched, revealing a silver sphere beaming down on the hugging couple through the transparent stained glass. Innumerable diamond dots winked at one another, setting a date for their annual rendezvous at enigmatic constellations. The sparkling carpet was already embellished with a luminescent heart woven with thousands of magical fireflies, proclaiming the triumph of true love in a burning golden heart-shaped fire upon the peaceful night sky. Inside the open corridor, two lovers tightened their hold, ravenous for each other's warmth and love, oblivious of animated congratulations from both the terrestrial and celestial worlds.

Meanwhile, far away, under the ground of a ghastly churchyard, the warped form of what used to be Tom Riddle almost passed out in a sudden seizure of acute pain while enjoying his late supper. Out of nowhere coursed an overpowering force through the villain, threatening to pulverize all of evil spirits in him, an alien force that rendered him debilitated despite his potent magic. The most powerful dark wizard inhabiting the land of the living was getting quite alarmed, not to mention that he had been consistently having visions of his own demise caused by the same unknown nefarious force. His screams shook the entire underground building, "H-A-R-R-Y P-O-T-T-E-R!"

Needless to say, those hysterical screams didn't touch a hair on Potter's head. The bespectacled wizard was walking on air, in the arms of the girl he loved, at that moment. Harry Potter was united with _the power the Dark Lord knows not_ after all!


End file.
